


Soul Mechanism

by alexenglish



Series: پھول [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Class Differences, Cultural Differences, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderqueer Character, Magical Bond, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Other, Past Character Death, Pining, Reincarnation, Secrets, Slow Build, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 01:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: When a chance encounter with a stubborn human manifested a magical bond within Zayn that had been dormant for decades, Zayn could not deny being intrigued; by the connection, and the boy, and what it meant for a demon such as him -- a demon who had been without a master for many years.The universe always had a purpose, and meeting Niall was only the beginning.





	1. when our lights meet, know me then

**Author's Note:**

> it's FINALLY here. 
> 
> first and very importantly, there are warnings that will accompany later parts of the series that don't apply to this first part, just keep in mind that the themes will get darker as the series progresses. as it is, this is like nothing I've ever shared before and I've never been more excited or nervous to unveil a project in my entire life. 
> 
> I took liberty with the language and mythology, and focused more on reshaping mythology to suit my world instead of the opposite of that, so if you see things that aren't exactly right, that's definitely why. 
> 
> a very heartfelt thank you to Di/wepush for the art, and for truly understanding this fic, and being able to bring the aesthetic to life the way you did. thank you to Steph/1000_directions and Angela/sarcathlon for the enthusiastic validation and believing in me even when I didn't necessarily feel like believing in myself, you are the greatest cheerleaders in the world. thank you Kat/sleepy-skittles for the beta and making time for me even though this summer was so huge for you, it means a lot to me that you would do that for me and I appreciate it more than words can express. 
> 
> and from the bottom of my soul, thank you Bianca/solozayonce for literally holding my hand this entire process even when my metaphorical knuckles were white from how tight my grip was. thank you for the actual hours of storyboarding and brainstorming, and entire days worth of conversations about this universe. thank you for understanding the heart of this and loving Ishraq as much as I do. I don't know if I would have gotten this far without you.

 

 

In the desert  
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,  
Who, squatting upon the ground,  
Held his heart in his hands,  
And ate of it.  
I said, “Is it good, friend?”  
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

“But I like it  
“Because it is bitter,  
“And because it is my heart.”  


                                                                        _in the desert by stephen crane_

 

 

 

For every millennium that passed, a majestic city would arise. It would start small, as a seed. It would take root, and it would bloom. Its riches would be many, its religion would be influential and honored, its ruler would be powerful. Far kingdoms would hear tales of it, and many travellers would come seeking refuge within its walls. It would become the center of the world for hundreds of years before it withered.

This millennium, Awen was that city, and the New Moon market was the greatest example of its economy. Even from the palace atop the hill, Zayn could hear the din of the crowd -- a low murmur of white noise -- and see the movement of it; the hypnotic flow of bodies in an unintentional rhythm.

Intentional, in some places. Eld Square was full of performers seeking spare coin. Drums and dancers interrupted the crowd’s course, creating pockets of rapid motion. The streets kept moving regardless. Awen breathed deepest at the beginning of the lunar phase.

Zayn would much rather be watching it from afar. Sat at his window, perhaps, like a child with an ant hill, observing without getting too close -- or perhaps, not at all, since he had been given a few days of reprieve and rest -- but he was promised a rare find by the eldest Hadid, and, according to her, it was one he would be a fool to pass up.

Now instead of watching from above or doing any number of other, more remarkable things, Zayn guided his stallion through the gate with a nod to the guard, trying to look as if he wished to be outside the palace walls at dawn.

He doubted he looked convincing.

Behind him, there was a happier trot of hooves as Harry followed on their mare; Harry was far more excited for the errand than Zayn was. Zayn stared at them.

“It’s one day,” Harry said knowingly, as they began the descent through the city. Dawn was barely breaking and the world was more grey than golden. “One morning, even. Completely uneventful aside from the very valuable rare whatsits Gigi found.”

“And the wryneck sings,” Zayn muttered darkly, ignoring Harry as they scoffed. Bespeaking lack of event begets event, and they both knew it.

There were many eyes on them as they passed through the upper district. Fresh, young faces in windows and individuals leaning in doorways. Those outside their homes stopped what they were doing, following the progress of the horses. Some watched with distrust; others with poorly concealed awe.

“They act as though they have never seen a demon before,” Zayn said flatly, making Harry laugh out loud.

“Not any as beautiful as us,” they replied, batting their eyelashes.

Indeed, it was true; under their travel cloak the neck of their petal pink tunic stretched wide to show the appealing pale skin of their collar, their sun-kissed shoulders. They had taken the time to find red stain for their lips, accompanying the kohl around their otherworldly, amethyst eyes.

It was a flagrant display, an amusing juxtaposition to the way they were dressed not a fortnight ago: in a soldier’s uniform with their long hair tied back to keep it from obscuring their vision as they shot Holy Arrows into the town of Blackburn -- the small battalion they fronted taking it easily for Awen and the High Council.

As always, Zayn was dressed more conservatively, but his clothes were fine and he took time to braid his hair in a way that was extravagant but not _too_ \-- still and all, they were easy marks for curious eyes. There was a fine line to walk between having a presence since they were from the palace, and not drawing _too_ much attention. Humans were always wary of demons, no matter how they presented themselves.

Zayn knew they would not be the only demons amongst the crowd. There would be humans, yes, and animals, but there would also be mages and magical creatures of all sorts. An array of colors and textures and energy. Even as far as they were from the square, the air was thick and sweet with different magics.

The temple district followed the upper district. Demons resigned to wood and stone and altar and sacrifice. Zayn tried not to think about those who served the holy mages therein. The power and sadness of eternal binding was palpable as they passed -- even Harry’s demeanor subdued until they were well past the heavy gates.

They looked at each other for a moment. Zayn could never be thankful to humans for the way they had decided to harness demonic energy, but he was grateful he was a pawn of destruction and not consumed the way the demons in the the temples were.

Temple demons were the fire and fuel the holy mages exploited to perform their miracles and talk to their gods. Endlessly taking power, without respite or reciprocation, somehow tapping into the energy of the demon realm so the demon’s essence did not exhaust.

It was tiring for Zayn to think about. If he were more of a man, he would mourn his kin. But he was a demon, and it was out of his mind once they crossed over the water into the lower district.

They guided their horses to a shady spot and left them tied loose enough to graze and pace. Zayn pressed a kiss to the warm side of Scapegrace’s face and drew a protective sigil against his fur before they left the steeds be.

Pulling his hood forward, Zayn cast a faint glimmer over himself. Not enough to mask his face completely, but enough that most who looked his way would not think to look for long. Harry did not bother with any magic, but they pulled their hood down, knowing the pale moon of their face would draw attention, and Zayn would resent them for it until the next day.

Harry was not as old nor as well known amongst other beings as Zayn was, but they had enough wits to keep their head down so the errand could be completed without incident. Not that Zayn anticipated it would be an entirely incident-free trip, considering Harry’s earlier jinx.

“When was the last time you were to the market?” Harry asked conversationally, as they sidestepped some kind of birdfolk. Zayn felt Harry’s magic snag the material of his cloak, tethering them together like a mother and a toddler. Zayn pushed back against it, shaking them loose, but Harry grabbed onto him with a hand instead.

“You are impossible,” Zayn sighed, but he did not make Harry let go. Zayn attempted to recall a recent trip to the market -- Awen’s markets first, then any other market when he could not think of that. He was not quite ashamed, but it did take a moment to remember. “I was in Nasitba a twelvemonth ago. They have a lovely bazaar.”

“Oh Goddess,” Harry laughed, bringing themself close to Zayn so he could hear them better. “Do you ever get out of the palace? Have fun?”

“Shopping is not fun,” Zayn informed them lightly. Merchants tend to be belligerent enough that Zayn sometimes envisioned himself pulling out their teeth with his bare hands. He did not do it, but he did think about it. “Besides, I am out of the palace all the time. I was out of the palace with _you_ less than a sennight ago, dove.”

“Razing villages is not fun either,” Harry said.

Zayn looked back at them, smiling in a way that bared all his teeth. All they did was roll their eyes at him, they knew him too well.

“I suppose I do not have fun at all,” Zayn said, dramatic and breathy. “My life is void of joy, my existence is hollow and trite.” Reverting to a normal voice, he continued, “I have my arts and my studying. I do not know why I must attend markets and mingle to have _fun_.”

“I would say you are dull, but I could watch you paint for hours,” Harry sighed. “I suppose I would be calling myself dull as well.”

“I am fine,” Zayn reassured them. “I do what is needed of me by the Council. I have pleasures I indulge in. I am _fine_.” It sounded as if he was trying to convince Harry now, but that was not his intention. He did not feel as if his routine was lacking.

_Well_ , he thought, deliberately stroking the inside of his right wrist. Nothing happened. Nothing ever happened. No reaction, no magic, no tie or tug or binding. It was skin in whatever way Zayn’s skin was skin. There was no bond there.

The bond was what was lacking, but Zayn had not had a mage for hundreds of years, and there would not be one anytime soon, so he did not dwell on it. He was fine.

“Found your djinn,” Harry said, not long after, taking the lead so that Zayn was the one who had to snag the back of their cloak in order to stay with them.

Gigi and Anwar’s tent was small. The more unique and costly goods would be inside, whilst scrolls and books bound in animal skin were piled on the blanket laid over the dirt out in front. The heavy scent of burning wood lingered around them as it did with all southern djinn.

Gigi’s golden eyes shone as they caught the morning sunlight, cheeks pushing up as she smiled, realizing that they approached. She inclined her head to Harry in polite greeting, but quickly made her way to Zayn’s side.

“ _I was worried you would not come_ ,” she said to Zayn, kissing each cheek. Her voice was rough and deep and smokey as she spoke in her native language, Aezdali.

Zayn returned the gesture, letting the second kiss linger as he once again familiarized himself with her heady scent. It stirred his memory of open air tents and large bonfires and food made with spices that sear his tongue -- he did not need to eat, but he ate in Aezda for the taste and experience of it.

Awen was a great city. Dull, indeed, yet beautiful in its own way; the sky was frequently grey and the clouds were often heavy with rain. He missed the dry South and its sunshine frequently whilst residing here.

“ _It is not yet mid-morn_ ,” Zayn replied, Aezdali coming quickly and easily to his tongue. He laughed. “ _I did entertain the idea of staying in my chamber, hidden away, but I must see what you have brought me_.”

“ _Brought you for purchase_ ,” Gigi said, raising her eyebrows. “ _I know you are good for the gold_.”

“ _I am_ ,” Zayn assured her. “ _If it is worth it_.”

“ _It is. Come_.” Gigi led Zayn around the back of the tent. A locked chest sat there, a foot or so away from the stone ledge that kept the river from flooding the pathway. Gigi ran a finger over the top, lighting up a lock symbol there. The magic in the chest shivered and obeyed, opening for her.

Inside was a rectangular box. She held it out to Zayn. It hummed as it gauged his magic and opened for him when he caressed it, similar to the way Gigi had with the chest. Inside were scrolls.

They must have been of great value. Zayn could tell by looking at them that the paper was exquisitely made, and they had not been handled by many. To avoid curious glances, he resisted the temptation to bring one out and unroll it, but he looked at Gigi in awe.

“ _Dedicated to the history of Eastern magics_ ,” she said softly, voice dipping low and reverent. A shiver walked up Zayn’s spine even as his throat hitched.

“Gi --”

“I stole them,” Gigi laughed, Aezdali giving way to the common tongue. “If that’s what you were going to ask, and you were. You weren’t about to make some weepy declaration of affection, were you?”

“I was not,” Zayn lied. Her gold eyes were soft and knowing, and he was eternally grateful for her friendship. “I will pay you greatly for these.”

“As you should,” she said, grinning ruefully. “I shall have Anwar deliver them to the palace along with charcoal and papyrus.”

“And I will pay you even more for that,” Zayn said, untying his purse from his belt and emptying a fair amount into his palm. He handed her more than he would any other merchant, and she grinned at him for it.

“When are you going to come see the family again?” Gigi asked, once they were around the front of the tent again.

“I hope it is soon,” Zayn replied honestly. “But there is much to do, and on top of it, I have many scrolls to study now.”

“You’ll write me about them,” Gigi said. It was not a question. “Your ‘much to do’ as well, if you can indulge a foreigner. I am curious, there are rumors.”

“Many rumors,” Zayn agreed. He could not talk about it candidly, but he wished to. On the one hand, the Council pushed further West with ideas of expansion and conquest. On the other, the city was trembling with anticipation as rumors of rebellion grew stronger each day. It was exciting, absolutely, but he did not know what he could say, so he allowed himself nothing more than vague comments.

“I will write you about the scrolls in detail,” Zayn told her. “It is the least I can do.”

“Good. Now I think your friend may be getting themself in trouble.” Gigi inclined her head towards Harry without subtlety.

Harry was sat at the edge of the road, on the _ground_. There was a small child braiding flowers into their curls.

“There you are,” they said, smiling up at Zayn and Gigi as best they could whilst the child concentrated. There was a glimmer over their eyes, making them look jade green and human. Much good it would do them.

“You made a friend,” Zayn said flatly. Harry did not seem to know that an imp was braiding their hair, under the guise of a child. The imp did not look up from the task, hands working at a practiced pace. Zayn could see the magic in it, the easy flow of brown earth magic. “Does your friend have a name?”

“Abigail,” Harry said, nodding. There was no chance that was the imp’s actual name, therefore Zayn did not have the chance to use the name and break whatever small spell was being wove into Harry’s braid.

What an idiot, Zayn thought fondly.

“Abigail, may I have my companion back?” Zayn asked. The imp finally spared him a glance, eyes narrowing immediately as they tied the braid off at the end.

“I suppose.” The imp shrugged, patted Harry’s head, and dropped the guise -- ugly little imp face peeking out from behind dirty curls. Harry was so startled that they let out a shout, and the imp cackled loudly before winking and sauntering off.

Zayn laughed brightly.

“At least the braid is nice,” Harry said, letting go of their own magic, green eyes fading into ever-present purple.

The braid _was_ nice, and the flowers were fresh; the magic was subtle enough not to be a threat of any kind. It appeared to be an order of some sort, a request for a future favor perhaps.

“Dreadfully ugly,” Harry went on.

“They are,” Zayn agreed. “I believe you owe that one something though. Best to hold your tongue and be pleasant.”

“Oh, damn,” Harry said, touching their braid. It was a gift. Not a very creative one, nothing that would force Harry to perform ridiculous or malicious tasks, but the imp would come collecting at some point.

“I will protect you,” Zayn promised, laughing at the disgruntled look on Harry’s face. He backed away from Gigi’s tent with a wave goodbye, sure he would see her later in the week, if not on the morrow.

“Maybe its favor will be to torture you,” Harry teased, bumping their shoulders together playfully.

“Unlikely,” Zayn replied with a scoff, weaving through the crowd in an attempt to locate merchants he recognized. Many peddlers came from near and far, and whilst some could be trusted, most could not. He did not need Harry purchasing cursed jewelry. Again.

Without Zayn noticing, a sizeable crowd had gathered along the way. The sun was reaching the middle of the sky, and those who were not at the market earlier in the day were here now, spread out to the edges. He could feel the weight of Harry’s hand holding onto his cloak again. He minded less this time; it would be an annoyance to lose each other now.

Zayn watched elbows and below as he navigated each body, unwilling to raise his eyes lest someone or something see through his magic. It was all for convenience, really. The less fuss the better, Zayn believed; the magical frequency of the crowd had increased with the density of the crowd. As he thought, he and Harry were not the only high ranking beings around.

He managed alright until he felt Harry’s presence leave his side. He spun around to look for them, colliding with a human -- going by the smell of them -- forcefully. There were hands at his waist, steadying them both as they nearly tipped over. Their palms felt _hot_ through Zayn’s tunic.

“Whoa there,” came a voice, a bright jump of vowels in the common tongue, a smile.

Zayn kept his balance, barely, gaze meeting the piercing blue eyes of the stranger -- Zayn’s heart gave a painful lurch, a pulse of magic reverberating all through him along with it, startling him into paralysis as the human slipped away --

Zayn’s confusion was heavy, and his belt was considerably lighter, purse gone.

“ _Damn_ ,” he cursed, recalling what the human looked like as he made his way through the crowd. Broad shoulders, thick trunk, dexterous fingers -- sun lightened brown hair, pale and freckled skin, those _eyes_ \--

Zayn caught the scent before he saw them, but that was all he needed. He moved through the crowd quickly, using his magic to flow through openings between bodies without greatly displacing anyone.

The cutpurse was up ahead, pace quicker than normal, but not enough to draw suspicion. They threw a glance over their shoulder and met Zayn’s eyes. Zayn dropped the glimmer to see the way they jerked unexpectedly at the sight of amethyst demon eyes.

Instead of stopping, which was what Zayn really wanted, they took off running.

They were quick on their feet and read the crowd well, darting around in a way that made it apparent they were a local. They slipped into a narrow alleyway between buildings, and Zayn followed, gathering his magic and transporting himself instantaneously into the mouth of it.

The thief was down a ways, fingertips dragging on the stone walls over and over, sparks of blue dancing up their arms and gathering in their palms. There was magic between them, written sigils that were charging with human magic -- written to expel a demon from the area.

Zayn slammed his hand into the stone. It cracked and crumbled under his palm; a deep fissure ran through the surface, breaking up the spell.

“What --?” The human’s voice was high and anxious as the blue energy flickered and faltered and died. They shook out their hands, sending more power into their palms, mouth set in a determined line.

Zayn closed the distance between them instantly, hand closing around their wrist as they went to attempt another awful, human magic trick.

Their skin was warm under Zayn’s fingers, their pulse was fierce -- pain lanced up Zayn’s arm and into his brain as he touched them. Agony like he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years. He heard the human scream, loud and piercing, as a blinding light washed through the alley.

The light was coming from _them_. A ribbon of white magic spiralled down Zayn’s arm from elbow to wrist, burning into his flesh as it flowed from his fingers onto the human’s hand and arm. Their face was full of fear as they looked at Zayn -- sunlightened brown hair, pale and freckled skin, those _eyes_ \--

Zayn had never seen those eyes before, but he knew them.

“What the _fuck_ ,” the human demanded, _scared_ , and promptly dropped into a dead faint.

Zayn caught them around the middle before they could hit ground, pulling them in. Their head lolled to the side as Zayn held their weight. Their heart was still raging; Zayn could practically feel it through his own body, warring with his own pulse. Humans always felt wrong -- too light with their bird-like bones -- this one’s chest rose and fell quickly as if they were still running. As if they were still terrified.

Zayn looked down at where his fingers were still locked around the human’s left arm. What was just coiling and curling magic had settled around his wrist, three thick bands of rose gold burnt into his skin, mirrored on the human’s skin.

“What the fuck, indeed,” Zayn muttered, hoisting the unconscious -- boy, Zayn thought this one was a boy -- over his shoulder. A multitude of questions crowded his mind, eager to be asked, but Zayn could not satisfy them until the human woke up.

_If_ he woke up.

 

 

_Essence_.

To live was subjective. Flickering into existence.

And _out_.

Called upon by name. _Conjured_ into being through fire.

The only necessity was magic.

_Entity_.

 

 

Legend told of a realm of lightning and energy and the existence of beings greater than gods. Legend told of a lowly demon who found a crack in the framework and tore it open until xe could step through it. Legend told of a demon who entered a realm not xir own and met a race not of made of spark or rage, but of flesh and bone, of clumsy tongue and wary intellect.

A species that seemed gentler than demons, made less of chaos and more of balance. A species that always looked towards the heavens and searched for answers to questions they did not know how to ask. The opportunity to give them that was too great and, moved by their hope and curiosity, the demon pressed magic into the heart of a select few, and told them to use it wisely.

But objectively, humans were not wise. And like demons, they were greedy and bloodthirsty, and they found ways to pull demons out of their realm and harness their energy for destruction. The first demon was wrong, and the human chaos called itself ‘mage.’

Zayn did not remember the other realm, his home realm. He knew he flickered to life somewhere East of the Great Sea, remembered light and fire, and a mage who peered at him with a young, dirty face and a sharp smile.

The mage was a human who went by the name of Ishraq, neither boy nor girl but something separate altogether, something warm and bright.

Something like the sun.

“I will name you ‘Zayn,’” they told him when he took a human form, dark hair and dark eyes and dark skin, raised in the darkness. “In my tongue, it means ‘beautiful.’”

Zayn was darkness, and Ishraq was sunshine.

 

 

Several hours passed before Harry came barging into Zayn’s chamber. The flowers remained braided into their hair, looking alive and fresh. Maybe they would owe that imp a sizeable favor after all, if the magic lasted this long.

There was a pout on their face, bottom lip sticking out petulantly. “I cannot believe you left me,” they complained, throwing themself into the chair opposite Zayn dramatically. “I turned to this stall -- it smelt like aconite, you see, and I was curious, since you hardly find peddlers of that sort around this part of the world --”

Harry stopped abruptly, and then, “Oh what the hell, Zayn.”

Zayn sighed and rolled up the scroll he was reading over, looking at the human on his bed. There was an extra linen under him to prevent dirt from getting on Zayn’s bedclothes. He was not entirely certain why his first impulse was to put the human on his bed, but Zayn did not want to leave him on the couch, or the floor, or elsewhere.

Against the snow white of the linen, the human was more pink than pale, beauty marks on his face and arms, soft looking all over -- cheeks and jaw and mouth. The bottom of Zayn’s stomach got terribly heavy if he watched the boy sleep, so he had avoided it for the better part of the afternoon, but he looked then, briefly.

Saying nothing, he held his right arm out for Harry to see, resting his chin on his left palm as if this was a mundane occurrence. Inside he was well and truly affected, but he did not want Harry reading his demeanor so easily before Zayn could decide how he felt about the situation.

“Oh,” Harry said, running a finger over the markings.

“Oh, indeed,” Zayn agreed, as a shiver worked its way up his arm. On the bed, the human moved, curling in on himself. Harry stopped touching Zayn, and the human stopped moving.

“Is it Ishraq?” Harry asked, voice quiet, as if they did not know whether or not they could ask.

“Yes,” Zayn replied, sure of it. “Not wholly, but their energy -- their magic, perhaps. A part of them was there.”

Their soul. Born again.

“Did you know that would happen?” Harry asked, looking towards the human.

He slept on, unaware. Soft and fragile and beautiful. A sight Zayn had been aching to draw, but Zayn feared committing his figure to charcoal and paper may make permanent the nebulous feelings stirring inside him.

“I would have been looking for them,” Zayn replied, too fierce for how carefully Harry posed their question. He took a steadying breath, dropping his gaze to the floor apologetically. He felt Harry squeeze his knee. “If I had known, I would have tore this world apart looking for them.”

“I know you would have,” Harry said, and that was enough.

After a moment, they stood and turned Zayn forward in his seat once more, handing him the scroll he had put down. Harry swept Zayn’s long black hair back off his shoulders and started braiding it from the top in the Western style.

“Do not plait any of those flowers into my hair,” Zayn warned. “I will curse you for infinity if I owe a lowly imp a favor.”

“You think so highly of yourself,” Harry said woth a snort, fingers working slow and patient, allowing Zayn to relax into it. Zayn could admit that it was soothing, tension draining out of his shoulders. “I am the only one you will owe a favor.”

“Acceptable,” Zayn replied, as Harry finished up. They pushed the braid over Zayn’s shoulder where it fell to his chest before hooking their arm around him, and giving Zayn a tight hug -- one that he would usually wiggle out from under, but welcomed in the moment.

He looked at the human in the bed again and tried to breathe deeply.

 

 

The day passed slowly. Unable to concentrate on the scrolls he bought from Gigi, Zayn finally gave in and drew.

He drew the view from his window looking out onto the city. He drew the market from earlier, sun rays on the waves and the endless horizon. He drew the flowers that were blooming in the garden, and ones that would not bloom until the land warmed, and ones that were blooming very far away in places he had not been to in long years.

He drew Ishraq.

He drew their almond eyes, over and over. Dark and deep, and always engaging. He drew their heavy brow and their straight nose and their full lips and their stubborn, squared off jaw. He drew them as they looked when they were young, before the Council of Mages, before the nations were united.

He drew them young, smiling at the ground, shaggy hair falling into their eyes. He drew the sweet slope of their neck, their delicate collar.

He drew the human on the bed.

Once. And then again, and then again until there were pages upon pages of the boy in profile, face soft from sleep, stubble on his jaw. Until there were sketches of his hands loosely curled against the linen, and the marks on his wrist -- and the marks on his wrist --

The marks on his wrist.

A binding. A _promise_.

Cuffs made of magic, voluntarily fastened.

“You would belong to me,” Ishraq said, when they proposed the idea. Late in the Campaigns, as the battles became bloodier and mages on both sides were dying, and their demons were freed from this realm only to be pulled back by other, more desperate mages. More desperate and far more reckless; mages who got their demons killed.

“Tied to this realm for as long as this magic lasts within you,” Ishraq had said, fingers pressed to the inside of Zayn’s wrist. They followed the touch with a kiss. Eyes down, a nearly imperceptible brush of lips. A gesture so submissive Zayn could hardly breathe properly. “Even after I am dead.”

Now Ishraq was gone, and another human wore their bond.

The human slept on. Peaceful, unmoving, and unbothered by the heavy thoughts that plagued Zayn constantly. The captain petitioned him for a brief scouting excursion, one he had to beg off. It was suspicious, he was sure; Zayn rarely turned down easy missions, but he could not leave.

He also could not concentrate on anything long enough to accomplish much. All he wished to do was draw the human, so he did not draw at all after that first night. Whenever he went to study the exquisite demonology scrolls he bought from Gigi, his mind wandered to the day at the market and the feeling of free fall he got when the marks burnt themselves into his skin.

Instead of staying put in his chambers, he sealed them behind him and visited the sparring yard, and the summoning chambers, and took Scapegrace for a hard ride in the mountains. He avoided most, unwilling to discover whether or not others in the palace knew about the human, only visiting Harry to keep up on politics.

It was the first time in many moons that Harry had been stationed inside the city, chasing rumors and overseeing the mages in the lower district as they attempted to keep order. The city was restless, unsettled in a way that made anticipation flutter behind Zayn’s breastbone. He had always been the type eager for a bit of chaos, and he was tired of chasing it further and further West.

Not that Zayn was ever tasked with anything too arduous, and he blithely ignored any orders that held too much risk. Without a proper mage, there had been no way for the Council to force him into those situations -- much to the displeasure of the High Mage, Silas.

Zayn did enough. He was loyal, he upheld his duty, but he would not throw himself into terrible, unsure situations lest his essence be burned out of existence and his energy dissipated into the Universe. He enjoyed being alive, thanks very much.

Of course… Now, the marks around his wrist might change that.

Dawn broke on the third day as Zayn returned from Harry’s chamber, heart jumping painfully when he saw the empty bed -- he tried to recall if he sealed the door, tried to calculate how a human might escape despite how high up they were -- but as he thought it, he noticed the human just beyond, standing on Zayn’s terrace. The door fell shut behind Zayn, startling the human.

He jerked around, eyes wide as he looked at Zayn. The frequency in the air picked up, foreign magic prickling the back of Zayn’s neck deliciously, along with the scent of fear, a morbid curiosity thrumming underneath it all.

A feeling Zayn could not wholly grasp settled in his chest. Or unsettled, really. Unsettled him entirely.

“Calm down,” Zayn said, shedding his riding cloak. He felt so aware of the human, his entire being vibrating with anticipation for this interaction. It had been building inside of him for three days; he had not felt this excited in ages. He kept it to himself, though, showing a blank face. “I will not hurt you.”

The lines of the human’s shoulders were still tense, but the magic siphoned away as quickly as it came. “I ‘spose not, or y’ would’ve by now.”

“Indeed,” Zayn agreed, venturing a bit closer. The sun was properly risen now, outlining the human in gold. A breeze ruffled through his hair and moved his tunic. Zayn kept referring to him as a boy, but by human standards he was definitely a man. Young enough that the curiosity in his eyes had not dulled, but old enough to know in his mind that he must be wary.

The human watched Zayn, but he did not move as Zayn approached.

“I’m glad you are awake,” Zayn offered, unsure how to have the conversation. Three days had passed, and he did not think to practice what he might say when the human finally woke. That was a definite oversight on his part.

“I guess I am, too,” the human replied. Out of the corner of his eye, Zayn could see the boy’s left hand flex.

“You were asleep for three days,” Zayn said. Surprise flickered across the human’s face, and a frown settled between his brows. “Would you like for me to call for food?”

“I would like y’ to tell me what I’m doing here,” the human said, forcing a laugh alongside the words as if to show he meant no harm. “Not in the dungeons missing me hand, or at the bottom of the river.”

Zayn wished it were that easy. If the boy were a normal cutpurse, Zayn would have had no problem taking his hand as recompense for the trouble he caused, but the boy was not normal. Not at all.

“You are a mage,” Zayn said.

The human went rigid, mouth tight at the corners as he watched Zayn. “‘M not.”

“You do magic. You are.”

“Is there a reason for this?” the human asked, voice quiet but sharp, veering away from the subject. “Your master lookin’ to drain me powers? Enslave me for grabbin’ your gold? Why did I wake up on a bed like _that_ in a chamber like _this_ \--”

He cut himself off, corner of his mouth pulling down unhappily as he crossed his arms. He immediately uncrossed them and thrust his left one out pointedly.

“And what is this?” he asked. “Magical handcuffs? Three days, you said? Goddess, they’re all going to think I’m off dead somewhere.”

Zayn did not know who ‘they’ were, but what he said was probably true. “If I could have prevented that assumption, I would have, but you were asleep.”

“I was,” the human sighed, rubbing at his wrist.

Zayn felt it, jerking unexpectedly. It was a reflex to cover the markings with his hand. He and Ishraq had thick leather cuffs to desensitize them. They wore them always, unless it was night. Unless they were together. It had been so long, Zayn forgot how touch from his mage affected the scars -- and him.

The human’s eyes went wide, no doubt feeling the pressure Zayn put on his wrist.

“What is that?” the human asked, sounding distraught.

“It is a long story,” Zayn said, dropping his gaze apologetically before meeting the human’s eyes again. “If you would like to hear it, I will tell you. I would like to call for some food, maybe a change of clothes. I would prefer if we were both comfortable.”

The human snorted, but Zayn could not tell if he was amused. “Are you comfortable?”

“A thief has been sleeping in my bed for three days,” Zayn replied, rolling his eyes. The urge was too strong to resist. “Take from that what you will.”

Zayn heard the human laugh for the first time, soft and lovely, and Zayn went a bit breathless in response. There was a fairy kiss on his left cheek, a dimple that Zayn could not stop looking at until the human’s laughter ceased and it vanished.

“Food, ay,” the human said, smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Before Zayn could call anyone in, there was a rap on the door that made them both stiffen. Rose let herself in, bowing to them both before saying, “Now that the human is awake, Lord Silas expects your presence in his private meeting chambers.”

“Of course he does,” Zayn said in response, nodding to her to show he would acquiesce. She bowed, keeping her head up so she can stare at Zayn’s human a bit before backing out of the room.

“Sorry, Silas?” The boy’s voice went high and tight. “High Mage Silas?” The static of his magic was back in the air. It reminded Zayn of under-ripe apples in the springtime, tart enough that the back of his jaw ached.

“The very one,” Zayn said, already making his way across the room to the chest at the foot of his bed. He pulled out a simple tunic and a pair of trousers. They would have to do. He shoved the lot into the baffled human’s arms. “Through the archway was a wash basin. Rinse your face and change, we must go see him.”

It only took a few minutes for the human to complete Zayn’s request, coming out of the bathing chamber clean and dressed. He smoothed his hands down the tunic; Zayn could smell the anxiety on him, feel it in the air.

“You will be fine,” Zayn told him, watching him frown. “I am sure he simply wishes to inquire about your health.” He probably wished to know why the human was in the palace in the first place; why Zayn did not come to him about it at an earlier time.

The human did not respond with anything more than a deeper frown, so Zayn led them out.

Silas’ private chambers were in the west wing, far away from Zayn’s rooms. The palace was fairly quiet so early in the morning, mostly servants moving through the halls to prepare for the day. Every being they walked past stared. Zayn kept his eyes ahead, but he could tell the human did not find it easy to do the same.

“What is your name?” Zayn asked, when the silence got uncomfortable.

“You may call me Niall,” the boy replied belatedly. He sounded surprised, as if he did not realize they had yet to exchange the most simple of introductions. “And you?”

“Many call me Zayn.”

Niall made a weak noise of recognition in his throat. “Oh, shit.”

“‘Oh shit,’ indeed,” Zayn said, baring his teeth sweetly. He was pleased that his reputation preceded him, and was unsurprised that Niall did not recognize him. Most did not know the visage of the demons that walked amongst them. It was better that way.

The tension in the air increased and the silence came back with twice the discomfort. Whilst Zayn could not be a threat to whoever wore the three bands on their arm, it was good for Niall to experience some trepidation, he supposed.

The heavy door was guarded by a demon Zayn did not recognize when he and Niall came upon it, but they moved for Zayn without a word, bowing deeply. Zayn nodded politely, entering the chamber first with Niall behind him.

The private meeting chambers were very different from the larger, more public ones. The room was narrow, the table was short. There was no place for a fire; instead it was lit by tightly woven kindling set on fire, floating high above the table when there was no sunlight. There were some lit now; the Eastern light had yet to properly hit this side of the palace.

Silas was sat at the table in the middle of the room, dressed down today in a golden tunic and blue hose. They must have surprised him if he did not bother adorning himself with his customary jewels and daggers and the like. A spread of papers were in front of him: maps, tactical proposals, a scroll bound with a ribbon and Zayn’s name off to the side. He desired to know what it said, but he behaved, giving Silas a polite smile.

Silas stood and nodded at Zayn. He was the kind of handsome that one could not trust; eyes a bit too wide, smile a bit too brittle. He was not intimidating, but he was the High Mage, and that was enough reason for Zayn to incline his head as well, maintaining eye contact.

“Your guest is awake,” he announced.

“He is,” Zayn said, trying not to sound annoyed. He was going to request an audience with Silas about the matter, but _later_. It would have been nice to have more time with Niall alone. “I had an interesting encounter with this human at the New Moon market. He goes by the name of Niall.”

Niall bowed deeply as Silas’ attention turned to him. “My lord.”

“Interesting indeed,” Silas agreed, nodding at Niall once. He gestured to Zayn’s right wrist with his hand, “Tell me about that.”

“Our hands brushed reaching for the same item at a stall that morning,” Zayn lied, hoping Niall would catch onto it easily. “The instant our skin touched, the bands burnt themselves into our skin. The pain was intense, even for me, and the human could not take it.”

“What item was it?” Silas asked, sounding amused.

“A wooden carving of a three-eyed goat.”

“For your collection.”

“Indeed,” Zayn agreed. Of course Silas knew about his collection of wooden carvings. It was not a secret, but it seemed like a trivial fact for a High Mage to hold onto, and it irritated Zayn for no reason he could think of. “I brought him here, unable to locate anyone who recognized him and unwilling to leave him there alone.”

Silas nodded at Zayn before turning to Niall. “What interests you in a three-eyed goat?”

“Me mate has sisters, ‘m always on the lookout for strange trinkets they’d like,” Niall said immediately. His heart jumped, but Zayn was the only one in the room who could hear it. Zayn was pleased that his countenance did not give away the lie. “Three-eyed goat is definitely strange.”

“Do you know what the markings on your arm mean?” Silas asked, apparently satisfied with Niall’s answer.

“We hadn’t gotten to that part of the conversation yet, my lord,” Niall replied, arching an eyebrow. The corner of Zayn’s mouth twitched in amusement.

Silas’ eyes narrowed just slightly. “Would you like to?”

“As long as you don’t have t’ kill me for it,” Niall said with a shrug. It was getting increasingly difficult not to smile. “I’d like to know why I went to pick up a strange three-eyed goat carving and ended up in the palace of all places.”

“Zayn.” Silas inclined his head.

Zayn cleared his throat. “It is a long story,” he said again, as he said before. “Simply, my last mage and I were bound together by magic, ensuring they would be my only mage for the rest of my time in this realm. They are gone now, but I remain, unable to be controlled by any other. The bindings have now manifested on your skin, indicating that you may take their place as my new mage.”

“His _master_ ,” Silas said.

Zayn did not let his displeasure towards the word show on his face. The ways in which Silas regarded demons had always made Zayn’s hackles rise; he enjoyed commanding them far too much. Zayn was loyal, he upheld his duty, but he was not blind to the ways in which the Council took advantage of those they deemed lesser than.

Niall looked between them warily. “I’m not a mage,” he said.

“You could be,” Silas said, quickly and eagerly, making the hair on the back of Zayn’s neck prickle. “There are ways to train, studying to do. As your demon, Zayn would be there every step of the way.” Silas smiled a bit, large and greedy, as if it might sway Niall’s mind.

“What does Zayn think?” Niall asked, eyes on Zayn.

“Zayn does not get an opinion,” Silas said, absolutely saccharine. There was no doubt he was enjoying this to the fullest. Irritation bloomed quickly in Zayn’s chest; this was all wrong. “You wear the scars.”

“‘M not the only one,” Niall said quietly, touching his fingertips to the inside of his left wrist. Luckily, Zayn saw him do it and managed to suppress his shudder at the emotions Niall let through unknowingly. Curiosity and suspicion were the most prominent.

“Would you like to?” Silas asked, not faltering despite it being obvious that Niall was hesitant.

“The Full Moon festival in Dwes is in less than a fortnight,” Niall said slowly. “I should’ve been making arrangements, and I can’t delay them. If it isn’t an issue, I’d like to decide after I return.”

The smile on Silas’ face tightened imperceptibly. “I am glad to give you the time,” he said flatly. “If you would like, I can send someone to help with arrangements?”

“I’ll be alright,” Niall said, shaking his head quickly. “My thanks, of course, but it’s simpler with one.”

“If you wish something done right, do it yourself,” Silas said knowingly. As if he did _anything_ himself. He looked between Zayn and Niall once more before nodding. “I shall see you when you return, then.”

He let them go after that, waving them away. There was an underlying maliciousness to his cheerful goodbye wave. Silas was always scheming, that was no secret, but this felt different for reasons Zayn could not name. It made him wary.

Niall waited until they were back in Zayn’s chambers to speak again. “Why did you lie?”

“Why not?” Zayn asked, amused. It felt easier now, the awkwardness from before paling in comparison to the interaction with Silas. “Why tell him you tried to steal my gold and then tried to magically evict me _from the city_ before passing out from the shock of it all?”

“It wasn’t going to take y’ that far,” Niall said, ducking his head to hide a smile. “Maybe off t’ the upper district.”

“I am terribly sorry, I was there,” Zayn argued good-naturedly. “There was enough magic powering up behind those sigils to send me to Dwes.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Niall shrugged, looking properly abashed.

“That’s why it is important to know how to control it,” Zayn said. In that, he agreed with Silas. He found he wanted it, desperately, the desire hot behind his ribcage. He wanted a mage, he wanted the bond, he _wanted_ \--

Niall shrugged again. It was a subject that made him nervous, that much was evident. Zayn would like to know why, but he knew this was not the time to ask, so he did not let himself cave to his own overwhelming emotions on the matter.

“My thanks,” Niall said, avoiding the subject. “For not telling him about the gold.”

“If I had told him, he would have forgiven you,” Zayn told him. “And you would have owed him for it. Owing Silas anything is perilous. I would rather you owe me. I am far more benevolent.”

“Far more full of yerself,” Niall laughed, before his eyes widened and his mouth snapped shut quickly. He lowered his gaze. “Apologies.”

“It is alright,” Zayn said, managing not to smile at the floor. This human, oh Goddess. When he looked up, Niall was watching him with red cheeks. His gaze jumped away when their eyes met, pulse spiking once again.

“We should get you back to where you came from,” Zayn said, after it was silent for a moment and the strange heaviness had settled between them once again.

“Ay,” Niall agreed, clearing his throat. “Got’a make sure they don’t think ’m dead.”

After collecting Niall’s things, Zayn saw him to the gate. It was approaching mid-morn, but the sun was hiding behind the clouds -- as it tended to do in Awen. The sky made Niall’s eyes look more grey than bright blue. Zayn watched him look around as if he was committing the view from the palace to memory.

“Haven’t been up this high before,” Niall said, as if he knew Zayn’s thoughts. “‘S pretty. Far enough away from the city t’ ignore all the shite down there, right?”

Zayn snorted. “That is how it always is,” Zayn assured him.

Every human believed their strife was a unique one. Humans rose and fell, led and lied in the same manner over and over throughout every cycle of history. Awen’s story of unjust conditions and oppression was no different from any other city at any other point in time.

Ishraq was of similar mind when they were young. They had nothing, they were nothing. They took what was not offered to them by force. Taught themself in secrecy. Learned everything they needed to until their magic was strong enough to reach for Zayn and their tongue could call his hidden name. By magic and blood, they rose.

Idly, Zayn wondered if this human was hungry for violence the same way Ishraq was.

The same way Zayn was.

“I guess I’ll see y’,” Niall said, after a moment had passed, a kind look on his face. He seemed significantly less tense outside the palace walls. For no reason he could place, Zayn made an effort to keep that knowledge. “Kinda stuck, aren’t we?”

“We are,” Zayn said softly, resisting the urge to touch Niall’s left wrist. He and Ishraq used to touch each other’s marks all the time, for comfort and reassurance and grounding. It would take him a while to get used to wanting to touch someone else the way he touched Ishraq.

“I have plans to go to the Full Moon festival in Dwes,” Zayn said, without thinking, as Niall turned to go. He did not have these plans. He hated the New Moon festival. Too many people, too many demons, too much hedonistic behavior. “I was hoping I could find you whilst I am there.”

“Yes,” Niall agrees, seemingly caught somewhere being eager and being cautious. “I mean, of course. I’ll be gone three days, including travel. If y’ can find me, I’ll gladly welcome your company.”

“Good,” Zayn said, trying to imagine how he would tell Harry and Liam of this development. They were going to tease him for an eternity when they realized it was for this human.

Over time, many spirits had become soft for the species as a whole. It was the emotions, Zayn believed, the compassion and loyalty they displayed at the best of times, but Zayn was not one to favor them. Indeed, he had killed more of them than any other being in this realm.

Despite that, it was not unheard of for him to tolerate a few. And, of course, there was the one he was _more_ than indulgent towards.

The three bands on his arm signified that he and this human are connected in a way that could not be ignored. They were connected in a way that he would be a _fool_ to ignore. He knew that he would not. He knew that he would chase this lead until the options were exhausted and he understood why Ishraq would want this.

“Goodbye, Niall,” Zayn said, as he bowed his head -- deep and submissive, with his eyes on the ground -- exactly as he would have for Ishraq. Niall was his mage, after all. When he raised his eyes, their gazes met -- Niall’s was surprised, curious, his heart beating quickly, and Zayn felt stripped bare in a way he had not in a long time. “I will see you soon.”

Niall watched him for a moment longer before nodding, “Soon.”

 

 

It was taught that before the Seven Kingdoms united, the human realm was chaos. There was no sense of peace. Every being had to fight to keep what was theirs. Every race lived in a state of turmoil -- with each other, with themselves. Fear was all people had. Fear and a willingness to survive despite the difficulty.

The Council of Mages rose to mend the lands, to bring order to all races. They encouraged trade and education, they took the magic and channeled it into prosperity. Every battle waged was for the betterment of all people. All the bloodshed was to maintain this law that kept the human realm stable.

Look to the East. Those unallied barbarians fought with each other whilst the Seven Kingdoms maintain the same sense of harmony they had for hundreds of years. Praise to the Council, may the magic of the High Mage live on.

But Zayn remembered the East. The lands where he was summoned, the lands Ishraq loved so dearly. They were not barbaric. There were families who owned their land, and tribes who kept to themselves, and nomads who raided cities -- but it was not destruction, it was humanity. It was the same in the West before the Seven Kingdoms.

The difference was how the magic was treated.

Mages in the East wore their magic differently. There were always those hungry for more -- for blood and danger, for territory and riches -- but more often magic was for learning, for healing, for growing. There was respect for magic, and creatures with magic, and demons called forth by magic.

In the West magic was a token, a possession. Magic was power above others. There were already whispers of mages who wanted to conquer every land from horizon to horizon -- for resources, for power.

“It was as if they are Cursed here,” Ishraq said, when they had been in the West for a little more than a twelvemonth.

The Curse Ishraq spoke of was the influence of dark entities, the Nameless. The Nameless were demons who enjoyed hatred and fear so much that they began to feed upon it. As they fed, they became more and more wicked until they were consumed by it.

Everywhere the Nameless went, they brought this wickedness as black smoke, and the black smoke would seek out beings, entering through their breath and infusing itself in their lies. It would influence their hearts to harden, and their suspicions to increase tenfold, and chaos would follow.

“It is a cultural difference,” Zayn had told them. “Contain your glee.”

“I am not pleased about this,” Ishraq replied, indignant.

They were still so young, then. Wide brown eyes and an expressive face, petulant twist to their pouty mouth. Their hair was shaggy, falling into their eyes. Westerners called them a Changeling and did not trust them -- much to Zayn’s amusement.

“We could eradicate this Curse,” Ishraq said thoughtfully. Zayn did not believe there was a Curse, but he would humor Ishraq no matter what. “ _We_ could be the ones to bring order to this land.”

Thus came the idea that would bring forth the Campaigns in ten years time. The Campaigns would last for nearly five decades before they united the West. After, the Council of Mages would be established to control the newly formed Seven Kingdoms.

Ishraq would become the most powerful and most influential High Mage the human realm would ever see, and not once did Zayn leave their side.

 

 

The Chimera’s Tongue was an inn located at the furthest end of the river from the palace. The front of it stood tall at the edge of the water, stone foundation the only thing keeping it from sinking into the soft riverbank completely. Even so, it leaned a bit to the south, recognizable for many miles.

The back half was an old pirate ship. The kind that did not ride the rivers any longer, too large for the way the docks had overgrown to accommodate the floods. It sunk there decades ago, forcing a narrow passage so that only small vessels could make it upstream. Magic had kept the ship from moving despite overabundant flood seasons, or particularly cruel draughts, or anything else that might upend a ship from where it was embedded in the mud.

The shipwreck started as a refuge for those who did not have homes in the city. For beggars and castoffs, and whatever else kind of person found themselves needing a place to lay their head that was not the slimy streets of the lower district.

It was built upon as the need grew. The ship’s hull was opened up so it could be expanded outwards into large common areas for resting and dining. Then it went upwards, turned into a proper inn with proper rooms and a proper fee for staying. There was still plenty of charity, but it became an establishment.

An establishment with plenty of rumors attached over the many, many years Zayn had been in the city. At one point, a court of thieves. Another, a coven of witches who practiced summoning demons into themselves -- only a few were successful, Zayn knew, the others were burnt alive from the inside-out. And another, a faction of pirates that used the sunken ship in the back as a stash, paying the inn owners a copious sum to keep it hidden. Even now, the rumors of discontent in the city seem to originate from beings going in and out of The Chimera’s Tongue, or so Silas seemed to think.

Which was interesting, considering all Zayn’s inquiries about Niall had led him to that very inn.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Harry asked, staring at the sign with a bored sort of look on their face. Their curls fell around their shoulders tonight, hidden under their heavy cloak. Even disregarding the length of their hair, it was obvious they were both of wealth and had no business at the edge of the city like this.

“As sure as I am about anything right now, Harold,” Zayn said flatly.

“Are we going in?”

Even from outside the doors, Zayn could hear the commotion inside. There would be plenty of people drinking and talking, with no guarantee Niall was amongst them. Humans do not scare him, nor do other beings, but Zayn knew there was significant discomfort in being an outsider when entering a place such as this.

“Indeed,” Zayn sighed, and lead the way.

The entrance was a heavy wooden door that lead immediately to a staircase going down. There were no other options, so Zayn descended. The room they came out upon was large and rounded like a pig’s belly, an open area cellar with a bar and tables, all full.

Two staircases on each side of the room led to one level, and more staircases lead to another -- on and on, all the way up. There were people in front of doors on every landing, some leaning against the rail that kept them from falling to the ground floor.

“Never seen a hollow inn before,” Harry said, tipping their head back to see the ceiling.

“Clever way to keep an eye on most,” Zayn admitted. It did not maximize space, but Zayn supposed that was not the point.

Many eyes were on them as they entered, tension in the room jumping up a notch as more beings noticed them -- not only humans, but magical beings and creatures as well. No one challenged their presence, which was in everyone’s best interest.

There was a large human behind the counter watching them with narrowed eyes. Far larger than most humans, all broad shoulders and thick arms and massive hands. A Northerner, like Niall, but unlike Niall there was no friendly openness to that face.

Zayn thought that was where they should start.

“We don’t serve your kind,” the human said when they got to the counter. It was not said quietly. Instead it was said with a loud, firm voice that had the rest of the occupants of the room murmuring in agreement.

“I am not looking for service,” Zayn said, tapping his fingers on the bar. There was a orc to his left that was leaning in to eavesdrop very obviously. “I am looking for a man called Niall.”

“I know many men who’re Niall. Indeed, _I_ am Niall, but neither I nor any other Niall would enjoy speaking with ye, demon.”

“I think you may be wrong about that,” Zayn replied slowly. He contemplated showing the marks on his arm, but this human might not know that Niall had a matching set. And, Niall might not want his peers to know of the bond at all. “Tell him Zayn is here to see him.”

“Oh Goddess,” the human mumbled as the orc to Zayn’s left leaned away slowly.

Harry let out a snort as the human disappeared through a large door behind the counter. The conversation behind them picked up again, quieter than before. So much hesitation. They acted as if Zayn and Harry were here to burn down the place and arrest them all.

The human looked disgruntled upon returning, sighing out a, “He’ll be right here, ‘m sure.”

There was an awkward moment where they were all staring at each other before Harry leaned on the counter. “I heard you have the good stuff here,” they said to the human, eyebrows bouncing.

“We still don’t serve your kind,” was the response.

Harry looked affronted.

“Leave ‘em be, Bressie,” said Niall, coming up next to Zayn from behind. He gave Zayn a crooked smile, eyes questioning.

Zayn shrugged, gaze darting down to Niall's wrist. There was a deep blue seal over top the bands, invisible to anyone who was not a mage or a demon. Ah.

“I don’t serve palace demons,” Bressie said. There was absolutely no effort to reduce the volume of his pronouncements, much to Zayn’s annoyance. It would be nice if they could do one thing without drawing attention to themselves.

“Think of ‘em as my guests,” Niall sighed. “Treat ‘em like you would me.”

“Absolutely not,” Bressie leered, winking at Niall in a way that made Zayn feel prickly, furthering his irritation.

“Get them something if they want, ay?” Niall rolled his eyes and caught Zayn around the elbow, raising an eyebrow when Zayn stiffened. “Guessed y’ wanted t’ talk privately.”

“Yes, of course,” Zayn agreed, exchanging one last look with Harry. Harry nodded solemnly before turning to Bressie and smiling in a way meant to disarm. There was no doubt Bressie would serve Harry sooner rather than later; no one was immune to that smile.

Niall tugged on Zayn’s sleeve and then released it, turning to lead them away from the tables, through a side door, and up a short flight of stairs. They ended up in a kitchen, long counters for preparing food and a large fire and a clay oven. There were a handful of people at a low table in an alcove, playing some game of cards, but they took no notice as Niall walked Zayn past them.

The next door they went through lead to a sizeable yard on the other side of the inn, the side that looked north towards the mountains and not the city. There were animals roaming the yard, including a mare and goats and a large black dog that picked its head up to look at Zayn before immediately turning away from him.

They got two steps into the yard before Niall turned. “I was hoping you’d come,” he said quickly, before Zayn could make excuses as to why he was there.

“I -- You did?” Zayn asked, off balance. The yard was dark, but the moon was nearly full and the light caught on the angles of Niall’s face, leaving nothing hidden.

“S’mad, but I cannot get you out of me head.” He groaned, heart beating quickly in a way that made Zayn feel a bit dizzy. There was a red stain to his cheeks as he looked at the ground and then back up at Zayn. “Ever since I left.”

“You sealed the mark,” Zayn pointed out. The sigil was making him feel untethered.

“I kept wantin’ to touch it,” Niall said, laying a hand over the back of his wrist. A blue glitter of magic lit up his palm, and Zayn felt the tingle of it after a breath. When he dropped his hand, all that was left were the markings and nothing else. “I didn’t want t’ impose. I know y’ can feel it.” He shook his head. “And sometimes I get grabbed at whilst working, nicely like, but I didn’t want y’ to have to deal with that.”

“It will take getting used to, but you may,” Zayn responded. He got the same prickly feeling he did with Bressie’s wink when he thought about others touching Niall, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“Touch it?” Niall asked, but he did not wait for a response. He slide the pad of his finger over the markings. It took everything in Zayn not to shiver. Emotions bloomed from the touch, far more comfortable expressing themselves than they were at the palace.

“You are curious,” Zayn said quietly. “More interested than afraid. Why is that?”

“How do you know that?” Niall asked, dropping both his hands to his side.

“There is a pathway,” Zayn said, filling his mind with his own interest as he cupped his wrist. It fed through the bond. Zayn watched Niall’s eyes light up in awe.

“Is it mine?”

“Mine,” Zayn corrected, resisting the urge to keep it to himself. It felt as if it was too soon, but Niall wanted him to come, and Zayn wanted to be there. That must have meant something. If Zayn was being honest, he could not get Niall out of his head either. That was why he searched Niall out, that was why he came to the inn.

“The mage y’ bonded with was High Mage Ishraq, wasn’t it?” Niall asked, reaching out.

His hand hovered in the air, unsure of whether or not he should touch. Zayn did nothing, did not move. He did not know if he was prepared for Niall to touch him properly, especially not with this question hanging in the air.

“Indeed,” Zayn agreed.

Niall did not touch him.

“I know of you,” Niall said, dropping his hand, but drifting closer. There was not much space between them. The air moved as he breathed. Zayn felt encapsulated in the moment. “I grew up in Awen. I know the stories of Ishraq and their demon, and the nations that heeled to them.”

“What do you know?” Zayn asked. For some reason he did not expect Niall to know Ishraq’s name alongside his own. A foolish assumption, considering how deeply entwined he and Ishraq were throughout Ishraq’s life. How deeply entwined they still were.

“They established the Council and the Seven Kingdoms,” Niall replied. “I am not well in the ways of science, but I know the legends. I’ve heard your name.”

“And now I am yours,” Zayn said, keeping his tone controlled, neutral. “Does that make you feel powerful?”

Niall blinked up at him, eyes flashing blue for a moment before he looked at the ground. “It does,” Niall said. It was surprising. Zayn was expecting a lie. “Confused, but yes.”

“Would you command me?” Zayn asked, drifting even closer. He must know.

“I do not wish to,” Niall said, unexpectedly sharp. His jaw clenched, as if he wished to bite his own tongue, but he did not move away. “I am _not_ a mage.”

“You have magic,” Zayn said quietly, an echo from days ago when he said it to Niall in his chamber. “You are a mage. That is what it means to have magic.”

“I am _not_ one of them,” Niall said, corner of his mouth picking up in a snarl. The air around them became taut and defensive. Magic tiptoed up Zayn’s spine, amplified by their proximity.

There was a conversation there. A conviction felt this strongly must be sorted out, but Zayn did not think it was the time, so he nodded. “I have been on your mind,” Zayn said instead, allowing himself a small smile.

Niall looked embarrassed again, tension shaking itself loose. “Perhaps.”

“The bond has manifested.” Zayn shrugged. “This is how it will be.”

“Y’ didn’t tell me about that,” Niall said, as if he just thought of it. “Why me? Why would it happen with us? ‘M not Ishraq.”

“You are not,” Zayn agreed. He felt far too aware of that. “But part of you is.”

“What?” Niall went shock still, barely breathing. His body was so expressive, his anxiety so readable. He was an open book written in a language Zayn was not yet fluent in. His heart beat uncertainly.

“Tell me, Niall,” Zayn smiled sharply. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

Niall inhaled sharply. “Me?”

“There is no other explanation,” Zayn said. He had been contemplating it for days. Since they first touched, since the marks burnt themselves into their arms. Since he brought Niall back to the palace. Since Niall left once again. “Ishraq was not some novice mage. They were well-versed. Their magics held true. The only way my bond with Ishraq would live again is if Ishraq were to live again.”

Zayn looked at Niall pointedly.

“Tell me,” Zayn repeated, reaching for Niall slowly as his own heart pounded. Niall did not move away. “What do you feel?”

The space between them was magnetic, energetic, completely vibrant. He heard a sharp inhale when he touched Niall, but he did not know who it came from. Their arms raised, fingers aligning, palms kissing. There was a spark of blue magic between their skin as the three identical bands on their arms grew warm and glowed golden.

 

 

The air shifted.

The world upended. The stars pinwheeled.

Their breath aligned. Their hearts beat.

_Mine_ , echoed.


	2. the world between the lines

Dwes was a day’s ride away. North until the trees grew too thick to guide a horse through, east until the Kurtan Chasm cut a wound deep into the earth from horizon to horizon, and then down, descending centuries-worn paths that trailed the steep sides of the rift over centuries.

It was Dwes that he and Ishraq first came to when they travelled from the East, keen to see the newly blossoming City of Spirits -- established by magic and creatures born of magic with a human presence so small it was not worth mentioning.

Back then, the path was narrow and difficult to navigate, but now it was wide enough for a cart and cleared of any debris that might trip a visitor and pitch them over the edge into the abyss below. It was said that there was a net invisible to the naked eye that would catch anyone who fell to such circumstance, but Zayn did not know of anyone who had bothered to test the theory.

Fairy lights floated along, clustering around Zayn as he guided Scapegrace down, drifting so close to the stallion’s mane that the fine hairs stood on end, clinging to their magic. They nudged against Zayn’s hand, causing the tattoos on his skin to light up merrily.

The mandala design on his left hand hand was purely decorative, but he felt the seal at the base of his neck tingle as if it too was lit up. The energy held underneath the ink surged to the surface, testing the linework for imperfections. There were none; he had the same guards against the excess magic for decades and decades. It could not be broken unless he decided to break it.

The foreign magic moved on through his system, enlivening him in a way he had not felt in a long time. He supposed that was how it should be in the City of Spirits. Awen was overwhelmingly human, muted and lethargic, but Dwes was a heart beating inside a pocket of the Universe.

The city proper did not sit on the ground; it was huge and sprawling with homes and shops carved into the side of the chasm, some extending back deeply into the earth. Zayn could not guess how far it went on now that the city was well established and heavily populated.

The air got dry the further down they went, and closer to the city, it got warm. Any cool air that came into the chasm from the surface was not enough to suppress the warmth coming off the city -- from the rocks, and the magic, and all the bodies that occupied the space. Scapegrace did not seem to feel the difference, but Zayn did -- regretting the thick tunic he wore under his riding cloak.

It was like this all year, Zayn knew. Most supposed there was a dragon of rock and fire sleeping under the city, warmth escaping it with every breath, disregarding any need for seasons the people might have. As a result, Dwes was a thriving trade community more than an agricultural one, a place for commerce and scholars.

The crowd was not difficult to navigate as they entered the city, bodies parting for the horse with ease. Most kept their eyes ahead, but those who did notice him touched their palms to their chests, above their hearts, and extended their hands out to him in respectful greeting, making his stomach twist unexpectedly.

It had been awhile since he had seen that gesture, and he knew it was simply for the color of his eyes and not for _who_ he was. In Dwes, his face was not well recognized, and that was preferable to being known. He wondered if they would be so generous with their respect if they knew he was one of High Mage Silas’ demons.

Awen stood alone in many ideologies, especially the way they used demonic magic. Not that Zayn contemplated the politics of it often. The world changed. Once Awen was a beacon of light amongst cities -- a place where magic went to thrive -- now it was not. Now it was seen as a failing capital far too driven by greed, by its eagerness to expand, and by its mistreatment of its people.

If Zayn were to predict the future, he would guess the fall of the Counsel would come in less than half a century. Which was fine. Zayn was loyal, he did his duty, but moreso, his duty aligned with the marks on his wrist and the mage who wore their mirror.

Niall was that mage, and Zayn did not know what Niall would want from him; he did not know what would become of them, and that thought was bizarrely thrilling in its promise.

A large ifrit drew up beside him. Tall enough that they were nearly of height with Zayn seated on Scapegrace, with reddish skin like river clay adorned with golden tattoos, and hair the color of dark calla lilies. There was a youngling perched on their shoulders, so similar in appearance they could be a doppelganger.

The young one squealed delightedly as they turned to Zayn, a flash of gold waving over their skin, magic creeping into the air around them, too young to keep it from escaping in their excitement. Zayn smiled.

“ _Tsai_ , _tsai_ ,” they said, ‘father’ in the tongue of the Fire People. The ifrit pulled on the thick curls atop the larger one’s head. “A Dweller! A Dweller!”

The ifrit frowned and looked to Zayn, blinking at him. They were so close that Zayn could see the fire in their irises, smell the smoke on their skin. The ifrit smiled slowly.

“That is so,” they said. “Greetings, Spirit Dweller.” The little one laughed and leaned over to touch the middle of their _tsai_ ’s chest since the other’s hands were occupied, extending it towards Zayn.

“Greetings,” Zayn said, bowing his head a bit deeper for the two, stomach tightening further. The name was one he had not heard in decades, perhaps longer. In Awen, he was ‘demon’ and ‘soldier’ and, often, a nameless look of fear in passing.

“May you enjoy your stay,” the ifrit offered before nodding and heading in a new direction. The youngling looked back and waved, sending Zayn a toothy grin that warmed him.

It was obvious that it had been far too long since he had been to Dwes -- it had been far too long since he had been anywhere with a small population of humans and utterly free-flowing magics. There were so many beings of all shapes and sizes and species. Variations and alterations, brightly colored eyes and skin, laughing and chatting in foreign tongues. Zayn understood most, but it was the hardest his mind had to work in a long while.

He was thrilled by it.

Apparently he remained thrilled until he met Harry and Liam outside the inn where they were staying. It was an inn that accommodated humans better than most. A sign outside the door announcing: ‘MAGES WELCOME,’ in a dozen or so languages.

Harry squinted at Zayn. “What is the look on your face?” they asked distrustfully.

“I believe it is called a smile,” Liam said. His eyes crinkled into half moons, betraying his amusement.

For this trip, he was dressed down. No Counsel crest or royal colors, nothing to betray that he was a knight mage from the palace. Liam was a travelling companion, the bond mark that he shared with Harry safely concealed under the sleeve of his tunic.

“Our Zayn doesn’t smile,” Harry replied. “I did not think Zayn’s form had the ability.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn told them lightly, but he was laughing. Harry got his full range of emotions and they knew it. Said emotions might have been more subdued compared to dramatic demons such as Harry, but they were there. “Do you not feel different here?”

Liam looked a bit bewildered by the question, but Harry shrugged. “Of course I do, but I am here enough that it isn’t _such_ a novelty. This is where I come to find excitement. I tell you to have more fun, and you ignore me.”

“Well, here I am,” Zayn said, though he knew what response would come.

Sure enough, Harry laughed. It was low and very, very amused. “That is not my doing, is it? It is that Niall boy.”

“Hush,” Zayn told them, looking around as if the human might appear out of thin air and overhear Harry’s teasing. Last Zayn heard, Niall and company were not due until tomorrow, but one could never be entirely sure. “I am out of the palace and _not_ out to task for Silas, you should be pleased.”

“I am,” Harry said, voice softening. “For more than one reason.”

Zayn groaned. “I will find a hobgoblin to curse you,” he threatened.

Harry did not take him seriously; all they did was laugh at Zayn whilst they stabled the horses and arranged their rooms. They each had their own, though Harry did try to suggest Liam share a room with them under the guise of responsible economics. Liam frowned and checked his purse, still bulging with gold, as Zayn failed to keep the amusement off his face.

“Perhaps you could find someone to spend the night with,” Zayn suggested lightly, as they ascend the stairs.

The inn was a small one. Neat and clean, all manner of beings taking up space. There were rooms with open doors, allowing a glimpse inside. Most were not outstanding, but there were some with modifications -- one made larger by the grace of magic for a minotaur’s horns, one missing the far wall with a thunderbird lounging in human form visible from the hallway, one with the door shut but the unmistakable scent of live fire coming from within.

“Perhaps you should keep your ‘perhaps’ to yourself,” Harry replied.

Zayn ignored him. “I will be visiting Griff tonight, if you wish to come along. Get out of the inn whilst certain mages are asleep.”

Harry hummed in response -- a noncommittal answer, but Zayn was sure they would join him, if only for a distraction.

“You did not have to bring him,” Zayn reminded Harry, once Liam had disappeared into his room with a promise to see them closer to supper. It was a reflexive promise, Zayn was sure, since neither he nor Harry ate anything.

Zayn and Harry were roomed next to each other, further down the hall. No one was on this floor besides them; Zayn set his bag to float behind him so he could rebraid his hair, long since fallen loose from travel.

Harry did the same, fingers working through their hair far more quickly than Zayn's. “You are not the only one who should get out of the palace,” was all they said before they were at Harry’s door. They untied the heavy key from the front of their belt, unlocking their door pointedly.

“Indeed,” Zayn agreed, letting it go. It was not that he did not enjoy Liam's company, but he knew that bringing Liam meant Harry will be distracted by Liam. They would not participate in that obnoxious hedonistic behavior Zayn loathed so much if they thought Liam might be watching.

Not that Zayn truly cared, he reminded himself.

The trip would only last a few days at most, and Zayn packed light, so getting settled did not take long at all. There was a tub with fresh water in the corner, but Zayn did not particularly feel like being wet, so he stripped himself of his travel clothes and pushed a quick surge of magic through his body, dissolving it into a mass of energy before coming back to what he had come to think of as _his_ body.

The fluidity of magic that moved within the city reminded Zayn of the fluidity he used to indulge in.

There used to be such an eagerness to change form and intention, the pitch of his voice and the shape of his body. A desire to acknowledge such with words that did not come naturally to many humans in the West, but were second nature to Ishraq -- words other than ‘he’ and ‘man’ despite the appearance of his favored form.

“What do I call you today?” they would ask, always so curious when Zayn had settled on something new whilst they slept.

But, this form was one he wore often. It was one of Ishraq favorites. Dark hair and long lashes and the sweet shape of his mouth; broad shoulders and capable hands. It was the form Ishraq had touched last. That night, the last night, asking Zayn to be inside them. Ishraq on top of him, all around him, clinging to him hard. Sighing as they kissed, unable to stop.

That night, the last night, Zayn felt like a man and held this form, and it was how Zayn has remained for many, many years. A fixed moment in time, trapped by memory.

It had been so long since he did anything to alter it. He felt new and strangely fresh, and his tattoos pulsed happily. They did not glow as they did under the fae magic, settling instead at the surface of his skin, dulling down to a dark blue.

There were many. Places he had been. Animals and creatures, and phrases in languages he once spoke daily but had now been lost to more modern dialects. He pressed his thumb into the inside of his right arm, slightly above the bend of his elbow.

A symbol was inked there in a language long lost to the tongues of humans, even before Zayn was brought into the realm. “Ishraq,” the young one had said, drawing the symbol in the sand between them. After they summoned Zayn from the fire, after they called him beautiful. “It means sunrise.”

As he thought it, a soft feeling ghosted over his wrist along with a wisp of excitement. There and gone in a moment, but redirecting Zayn’s mind to Niall all the same. He slid his hand from the tattoo to the bond marks, sending back the feeling of lightness he had since he entered the city. It was doubtful that Niall would understand, he did not expect it, but perhaps Niall would ask and perhaps Zayn would explain how it felt for him to be in this city. How connected he felt.

It surprised him, how much he wished to share that with Niall.

 

 

It was only a few hours later that they found themselves in front of large double doors made of heavy wood, set into the side of the chasm just off the main square. Above the doors was a hanging sign that declared the establishment to be The Dancing Demon. The script was thick, painted fiery orange, and depicted alongside a caricature with red skin and exaggerated features.

“Looks like an imp,” Harry said quietly, as they waited for the doors to be pulled open. Fairy lights were starting to crowd around them. The light shone on Harry’s face, rippling like the sun over water.

When the doors opened, the fairy lights floated in beside them before scattering.

“It is supposed to be ironic,” Zayn replied, allowing Harry to go ahead of him. “It is a mockery of how humans depict us on occasion.”

There were two beings waiting on the inside side of the door. They both had the appearance of black kites, but stood upright they were a dozen or more hands taller than both he and Harry. The one closest to Zayn had white face feathers; their light brown eyes widened when they saw Zayn.

“That did not make it look less like an imp,” Harry replied, holding their hand out for the Bird nearest them. The Bird locked a bracelet with a magic seal around Harry’s wrist, and Harry’s eyes dimmed to that shocking green they frequently used when they put a glamour over themself.

Zayn looked at the Bird closest to him. He assumed they knew who he was, given the expression on their face. They looked indecisive, lightly feathered hand poised at their waist as if they were going to reach in their pouch for a bracelet.

As they should. It was their job to ensure every being, spirit or creature or otherwise, was as non-threatening as possible. The space inside The Dancing Demon was completely neutral. Any and all weapons were left with whomever was inside the door, magic was suppressed temporarily with seals inscribed on jewelry. The only beings who used magic inside were those who served and worked and sold; for the rest, only claws and fangs and strength remained.

It was not that Zayn was afraid to suppress his magic -- he would do well without it, no matter what situation might arise -- it was that no one other than Ishraq had seen the color of his eyes. Perhaps he was far too traditional, perhaps he had not been inside a neutral zone in far too long -- maybe ever -- but he felt that it was deeply vulnerable and he could not stand the idea.

Zayn raised his eyebrows coolly, displaying absolutely none of his discomfort. “I am here to see Louis Cirrusborn,” he said. The Bird’s hand immediately dropped. A simple name did wonders. The relief Zayn felt was disturbingly palpable.

“ _I thought you were here for Griffin_ ,” Harry said, once the Birds ushered them along so they could tend to the other beings waiting to enter. They said it in the old tongue so most around them would not understand.

“ _I am_ ,” Zayn replied with a shrug, choosing not to elaborate. Harry made a confused noise in their throat, but did not say anything more.

The Dancing Demon was set into the side of the chasm, one of the ones that dove deep into the earth, many rooms carved out for many purposes. The clientele was largely spirit and creature. It was rare to see a human about, as they were discouraged from coming -- alone or in large groups. The few that were scattered through the crowd were accompanied by those more suited to be here.

There was magic clinging to everything, so dense it manifested above them in patterns. Some flowed like a river, some danced, some ducked and wove around as if there was a game to be played amongst those walking. There was always an overabundance of fairy lights in the space, drawn to all the free flowing magic. They mimicked the sun well, it did not feel as if they were miles below the surface.

The main room was nearly as large as the throne room of the palace in Awen -- that was where the crowd remained. There were vendors tucked into alcoves selling and bartering and making a mess. There were goods and food, there was music and dancers. There was a horse, for absolutely no reason at all, parting the crowd.

Zayn moved for the horse and its rider.

There were doors lining the walls, doors that led deeper into the earth. Perhaps they led out, perhaps they led up, perhaps they led down. Perhaps they led to stored linens. Who truly knew.

“I like when we are in Dwes,” Harry said lightly. They had been nodding back at the people who offered their hands in respect. Zayn left it to them since they were of lower in, and Zayn found himself oddly nervous about finding Griff after all. “People like us here.”

“People respect demons,” Zayn replied. “There is a difference, and you would not be so welcome if they knew your loyalty.”

When Harry did not dignify that with an answer, Zayn assumed they knew he was right.

At the end of the room, the _hall_ truly, there were tables and chairs and a long counter with barrels of drink behind it, and doors that presumably led to some sort of kitchen, if the smells were anything to go by.

There was a demon stood at the counter, rubbing down glasses. A demon Zayn recognized all too well.

Louis looked the same as he did last time Zayn saw him -- however many decades ago that was -- pale skin tinted blue, messy bird’s nest of light brown hair, sharp nose and a sharp jaw, a mildly discontent look on his face. His garb was a simple tunic and breeches, the only ornaments on him were the bronze cuffs he wore -- one on each wrist.

It was no surprise that he remained unchanged. Within those bronze cuffs, his essence was bound to the human realm and his ability to shift between forms was no more.

“Here to arrest me?” Louis asked, after they settled at the end of the counter and Louis sauntered towards them lazily.

Louis gave Harry a once over, but did not acknowledge them.

“Why? You sabotage any supply runs lately, Lou?” Zayn said, letting the old nickname fall from his mouth to see the way Louis reacted. If Zayn were not Zayn and did know Louis the way he did, he would not have caught the subtle tick of Louis’ jaw and the way his amethyst eyes flickered; a flinch that was barely there, but there all the same.

“Haven't left Dwes in ages,” Louis replied flippantly, even though they both know he did not need to leave to make such things happen.

“Then you had nothing to worry about,” Zayn said. He had no desire to continue Louis’ game, so he spoke plainly next, “I have no power or rights within the confines of the city, I am here for the festival and nothing more.”

“And that’s the only reason why you’re allowed in me tavern.” When Louis smiled it was unnaturally wide, teeth sharp and threatening.

“My thanks,” Zayn replied drily. “Harry, this is Louis. Louis, this is Harry. They are a friend.”

“Greetings,” Harry said, holding out their hand. Then redundantly, “I am Harry.”

Louis’ gaze jumped down to Harry’s hand and then back to their face. He did not reciprocate the handshake. “Are you a palace pet as well?” he asked, meanly.

Harry flushed deeply, and dropped their hand abruptly.

“Ignore Louis,” Zayn told them. “That is what I do.”

“It’s got you so far,” Louis said, sneering.

Zayn forgot that Louis did this, forgot that he searched for weak and vulnerable places to press into to see if he could wound and bruise. If Zayn had given it any thought, he would have assumed Louis’ grudges would dull over time, but he would had been wrong.

It was no matter; Louis was not what Zayn was here for. Bitter resentment was not what Zayn was here for.

“I am here for Griffin,” Zayn said, not eager to bicker with Louis. It was exhausting, and he was not eager to get kicked out of The Dancing Demon before he saw Griff. The whole tavern was owned and run by Louis. He would not hesitate to forbid Zayn from stepping foot inside ever again if Zayn provoked him, and Zayn knew this.

“ _Makt_ ,” Louis said, jerking his head towards the opposite side of the room.

Across from them were deep alcoves pressed into the wall, hollowed out for merchants to solicit out of. A cut of the profit went to Louis, and the sellers could be as obnoxious as they wished as long as they were not belligerent.

It was an excellent place to sell goods. Minds were easily swayed when content and foggy from good mead and meal.

“I will be back,” Zayn told Harry, flipping his hand over for them. They smiled at him, something small, and touched his palm briefly -- hello, goodbye, their acknowledgement of each other. Zayn did not bother saying anything to Louis as he left.

“My dearest Zayn,” Griff said, when Zayn pushed aside the gauzy curtain that served as a divider between the dining area and Griff’s shop, letting himself in.

Griff’s space was lit by fairy lights. A wooden table was set up in the middle, behind which were chests and trunks full to their brims with handmade accessories. There were fabrics and metals, every feather and texture imaginable. The low hum of warm magic lingered in the air, a rumbling purr.

It was empty of any patrons, and Griff sat at the table with spectacles at the end of xir broad nose -- fixing gems to a neckpiece, heating the material until the stones could be pressed in, one by one. Xe got up after applying the one in xir hand, spectacles dropping onto the table as xe put aside all work to come around and embrace Zayn.

Xe greeted him enthusiastically by rubbing their cheeks together. Zayn forgot about that. He laughed and reciprocated, it was only polite. When Griff pulled away, xe was grinning widely, displaying thick canines.

“Tell me what business you have,” Griff said, holding Zayn at arms length, looking him over. “Nay, first, please tell me why your hair is so long.”

“Do you find it offensive?” Zayn asked, appraising Griff equally. Not much had changed. Xe was still tall and broad, skin darker than chestnut except for where it was gold, long dreads tied atop xir head with brightly colored clay beads throughout.

“Not at all,” Griff purred, tugging the end of Zayn’s braid playfully.

Zayn flushed, but did not take the bait. “I am looking for cuffs,” he said, peering behind Griff at xir work table.

“What size?”

Zayn presented his right wrist without comment.

“Ah, this is why you finally come to see me after so many years,” Griff said, snatching up Zayn’s arm. Xir thumb stroked over the back of Zayn’s hand to soften xir words. That hand held Zayn’s delicately, the other held Zayn’s forearm past the three scars branded there.

Zayn focused on the way Griff’s skin went from dark to gold, transitioning mid-forearm all the way down to sharp and shining nails, as if xir arm was dipped in molten metal and stained by it. There were bronze rings on nearly every finger, a stack of thin bronze bracelets up xir arm.

Every movement happened loudly, the bangles hit each other merrily and the rings clattered against each other and Griff’s nails hit the top of the table Zayn had his arm rested upon once xe released him.

“It has been a long time,” Zayn agreed sheepishly. “I did not mean for it to be that way.”

Griff hummed in response, yellow lion eyes watching Zayn. They were sleepy, non-judgemental, but something about Griff always made Zayn squirm, and it had been far too long since Zayn had been in xir company. The absence weakened the walls he so deliberately built between them all those years ago.

They met when they were years and years younger. It was the first visit Zayn made to Gigi in the South, right on time for summer celebrations in her home village. He saw Griff across the great bonfire during the Festival of Seiha, and Zayn was captivated in a way he had not been in a long, long time. It was fitting that they met celebrating a God of fire and passion, considering the nature of their relationship for the remainder of Zayn’s time in the South.

When Zayn returned to Awen, they drifted apart, and it had been years since they had seen each other properly. He regretted returning to Griff’s the way he had, but their relationship was such that Griff knew of Ishraq and Zayn’s attachment to Ishraq, and understood what uncertainty this bond inspired in Zayn.

Or so Zayn hoped.

“I think you did mean for it to be that way,” Griff said, sounding amused. When xe looked at Zayn, there was a bit of sadness in xir eyes. Barely recognizable, easy to ignore. “But here you are.”

“Here I am,” Zayn agreed, flushing with embarrassment. It was apparent that Griff understood him too well. Perhaps he did keep his distance, but it was better than heartache. Most things were better than heartache. Less confusing, as well.

“Do you wish to subdue it?” Griff asked, turning away from Zayn to search the trunk behind xir.

The top Griff had on was open in the back, from broad shoulders to tapered waist, showing off xir wings. Well, what xir wings were in this form: thick lines that took up the entirety of xir back. Golden and raised slightly from the skin like knotted scarring, sometimes hot to the touch depending on how much magic Griff was using. Not tattoos, but an imprint of xir true form.

The impression of feathers marked xir neck from hairline to curve of xir shoulders, visible where xir dreads were swept up and secured atop xir head. The lines were sensitive, Zayn remembered, especially at the top of xir spine.

“No, I do not wish to subdue it,” Zayn answered belatedly, too caught up in the contrast of dark skin and gold lines, and the tug of sense memories he had ignored for a very long time.

Griff turned to him with a smirk, but did not comment on Zayn’s pause. “Simple coverings, so others do not come in contact with the marks?”

“Leather, if you can,” Zayn said, thinking of Niall. Bracelets of rare or precious metal would not do well on a commoner’s wrist. Besides, Zayn could not imagine Niall voluntarily wearing gaudy jewelry. The material could not be too flimsy either. The cuff could not be destroyed by any labor Niall might have to do.

By any training he might have to do, Zayn hoped.

Griff picked up a few choices and placed them on the table. They were crafted as masterfully as Zayn expected. Smooth finishes, inside lined with soft fur, and laced with strong leather string. Each had an echo of Griff’s magic, enough to make them more art than accessory.

“You are drooling,” Griff quipped, reaching over to nudge Zayn’s chin with golden fingers. Xir bangles rattled all together.

Zayn bit at the air between them teasingly as Griff laughed. “You know I love good fashion,” he said, picking up one close to him. It was as wide as his palm, still barely able to fit over the marks. “Longer than this, perhaps.”

Griff nodded and took the others, tossing them back inside the trunk before digging around for more. “Do you had an estimation for the human’s wrist?” xe asked, coming up with more. Ones that were longer this time, that would probably cover half their forearms.

“If it has a tie, it should do,” Zayn said, taking them from xir. They were mostly plain, but the third one down -- “I have touched him twice, but I did not measure the circumference of his arm at any point.”

“Cheeky,” Griff said. Xe tapped xir fingers on the tabletop. “A man, then?”

The third one down was subtly colorful. Not bright, it did not draw the eye too much, but there were hints of reds and greens and golds and blues. It reminded Zayn of a river rock, the kind created from different soils being pressed together and smoothed down over long periods of time. For some reason, he thought Niall might like it.

Zayn set that one aside and raised his eyebrows at Griff. “Ay,” he replied, running his fingers over a plain one. It was thin, lightweight and flexible, made of dark leather with a golden dyed tie. He thought Niall may like that, as well. “A Northerner. You know how they are.”

Griff grunted, “I do know.”

“It is odd, is it not?” Zayn said, changing the subject, shifting through the pile to find something that draws his eye. “Reincarnation.”

“I know so little about the ways of science,” Griff laughed, handing Zayn a black cuff with a delicate filigree design in deep blue. Of course xe did. Knowing a buyer’s mind, that was what made xir so good at what xe did. “I am not the one with my nose in scrolls for centuries whilst the world zips by. I zip with it.”

Griff’s shadow shivered delightedly where it cast on the wall behind xir, wings spread over the walls darkly even as Griff’s physical form stayed the same. It went back to normal after a moment, content with that dramatic display.

“I zip,” Zayn protested. “I zip frequently.”

“You heel to Silas,” Griff said. It was light, still teasing, but this was a point of contention for them. “That is not freedom.”

“I do not need freedom,” Zayn lied, knowing Griff meant no harm.

In truth, he would not know what to do with freedom. There was a reason he stayed in Awen when there was no one left to keep him there.

“There is not much about reincarnation,” Zayn said next, returning to his preferred subject as he groped for his purse. They could be there all day if he did not pay soon, Griff had enough merchandise. “I suppose you do not know if you were someone else. You are simply you.”

“Unless something ignites it,” Griff agreed with a thoughtful nod, gamely going along with Zayn’s tangent. Xe accepted Zayn’s handful of gold without bothering to count it. Zayn ducked his head to hide a smile as Griff nudged Zayn with golden fingers, gesturing to the dark cuff Zayn bought for himself. Zayn held his arm out for xir, allowed xir to slip it on him and adjust it to xir satisfaction.

It took some wheedling, but Griff accompanied him out as he made his way back towards the dining area to find Harry once again. Zayn introduced Harry to Griff once before, so many years ago when Griff came to Awen for the New Moon. A two day trip that barely counted for anything, and the last time he saw Griff in person until now.

Harry was at the counter where Zayn left him. Behind which was a new tapster. Louis was around the front now, talking animatedly to a man Zayn would be a fool not to recognize.

He stopped abruptly, keeping Griff from moving forward with a hand around xir arm. Xe made an indignant noise as xe fumbled backwards towards him, “ _What_?”

“The human,” Zayn said quietly, jerking his chin towards Louis.

“Your human?” Griff asked, tilting xir head at the spectacle across the room.

Harry was watching as well, frown on their face. Zayn did not know if Niall knew Harry was there, or perhaps Niall did not remember Harry from the night at the inn. Regardless, Zayn’s eyes were for Niall.

Niall, who seemed perfectly at ease in an establishment full of creatures and spirits, decidedly lacking those of his own kind. Who seemed perfectly at ease with _Louis_ \-- friendly, talking loud and quick, laughing -- full and deep in his belly, something Zayn had not heard from him yet. Touching, even, allowing Louis to lean in with a hand on his arm.

A dark, possessive feeling thrilled up Zayn’s spine, nearly choking him in its intensity; he willed it down and away, hating himself for it.

“How does your human know Louis?” Griff asked, voicing Zayn’s thoughts.

That was an excellent question. First the Chimera’s Tongue, and now this. It seemed as if Niall was not a simple commoner after all. There was much, much more to him than Zayn expected.

Zayn wiggled his fingers under the leather of his new cuff and pressed into the marks to see the way Niall yelped, hand flying to his arm. The sleeves of his top were long, covering his wrists, but the material had to be thin. Zayn can feel the heat of his palm as he pressed back.

It took no focus at all to hear the way Niall’s heart picked up despite the noise of the room, and to hear Louis ask, “ _What is that_?”

No doubt he could hear the uptick of Niall’s pulse as well.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Niall said quickly, dropping his hand. They spoke in a Northern dialect, quick and clipped. It might have been Niall’s native language.

Louis’ face was dubious, but he did not pursue the topic. Instead he said, “ _Going to be bit. There are some visitors I want to keep an eye on_.”

The implication that Zayn and Harry were somehow untrustworthy or troublemakers made Zayn want to send a bolt of lightning into Louis’ face, but he restrained himself, thinking of the company Louis was keeping.

Instead, he beckoned Griff to follow, deciding to interrupt sooner rather than later.

“ _Doesn’t sound good_ ,” Niall said, laughing. Louis watched his face, but Zayn watched the way he started to fiddle with his left sleeve. He was probably wondering why Zayn pressed into the mark so hard, what Zayn was doing that might had inspired such an action.

Well.

“ _Hope you are not talking about me_ ,” Zayn said, before Louis could elaborate. Louis shot him a glare, but Niall went still even as his heart jumped up again, hands falling to his sides quickly. “ _That is not very generous, Louis_.”

Louis grunted at him, displeased, but Zayn ignored him.

“I thought you were not arriving until tomorrow,” Zayn said quietly, addressing Niall in the local language. There was a pink flush to Niall’s cheeks that delighted Zayn; he watched a spot over Zayn’s shoulder very deliberately.

“We were ahead of schedule,” Niall said, without hesitation. His eyes darted between Zayn and Louis. There was no doubt he could read the tension between them. If he did not, the sour look on Louis’ face was enough to go by.

“It is a pity,” Zayn replied honestly. “We only just arrived, we could have rode together.”

“Why would Zayn accompany you, Niall?” Louis interrupted. He did not sound angry, but his voice was sharp enough to make Zayn’s shoulders rise defensively.

“How do you two know each other?” Niall asked, instead of answering. It was not a deflection, or a simple curiosity. It was a demand thinly veiled in pleasantry. “I was not aware you were acquainted.”

“That is a long and terribly boring story,” Louis said. “I believe I asked you first.”

Niall met Zayn’s gaze for the first time, impossibly blue eyes sending a sweet jolt down Zayn’s spine. He knew Louis heard the way his heart skipped like a pebble over still water, and he could practically _feel_ Louis’ glare, but it did not matter when Niall’s mouth was soft with a smile.

“Zayn is my…” Niall trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words, but that was exactly it. That was enough.

“Yes, I am his,” Zayn agreed.

He knew Louis was going to move before Louis did so, felt the intent shift the magic in the air around them -- like a body redistributing weight, imperceptible to most, but to Zayn -- he flew to Louis’ side, one hand closing around Louis’ fist where magic started to gather and grabbed him around the back of the neck with the other, pulling him in --

He tore Louis away from the crowd and mustered enough energy to transport them elsewhere --

The inn room he was staying at, apparently -- the first place he could think of that was far from the crowd and Niall --

Zayn shoved Louis into the wall the moment they materialized, hard enough that the plaster cracked beneath his body. The hand Zayn covered with his own was white-hot, getting hotter as it compressed inside the curve of Louis’ palm.

It extinguished in an instant, and Zayn stepped back to give Louis breathing room --

And blocked the punch Louis immediately threw as soon as Zayn let go of him, once again summoning his magic over his knuckles. “Try me,” Zayn said darkly, pushing his own energy against Louis’, making Louis step back into the wall again. Blue surged forward to devour the grey, quick as a wildfire. “I will leave a hole in you before you let any more loose.”

“What the _fuck_ did you do?” Louis demanded, hand dropping hard against his side. The grey disappeared, but the magic remained in the air around them, warm and cloying and full of nameless rage that made Zayn’s neck prickle.

“I love that you had already concluded this is my fault.” Zayn put some distance between them. There was not much space in the room, but two steps away was better than one -- and one was better than none. “You do not wait for an explanation.”

“If you are involved, I need none,” Louis snarled, watching Zayn warily as he shook his hand out, clenching and unclenching it. The tattoos on Louis’ hand and arm flickered brightly before settling back into the soft grey that colors his magic.

“You need to let this go,” Zayn said coldly. It was obvious Louis’ grudge was clouding any sense he had about the situation. He refused to calm or quell his arguments, even for an explanation. “You can not resent me forever, Louis.”

It was not about Niall, Zayn knew that. Perhaps partially, but there was more to it. Louis had regarded him unkindly for many, many years.

“I can,” Louis argued. “I can and I will.”

“You waste your time,” Zayn informed him hotly. “You expect me to bow to your anger, your head swollen with ego --”

“I expect nothing from you,” Louis said, as if that was something Zayn did not know.

The urge to put his fist through Louis’ chest was overwhelming. It was such a violent feeling, one Zayn did not want to have towards Louis. Despite the anger Louis had towards Zayn, Zayn never felt that way about Louis in return.

So he ignored it, gritted his teeth and continued, “Do you think I enjoy the way you regard me? Were we not close in the times of Ishraq?”

‘Close’ was a considerable understatement, Zayn believed. They were brothers.

“I did not ask you to remain in the palace after their death because I wanted you to pursue happiness,” Zayn continued, after it was apparent Louis will not respond to him. “Whatever that meant. That was all I cared for.”

“You cared for nothing,” Louis said darkly.

“I cared for you.” Zayn could not soften his voice, but that did not matter. The truth was the truth no matter the volume it was spoken at; no matter how viciously it was said. “I loved you deeply, yet you speak to me with such anger --”

“You loved nothing!” Louis shouted -- so loud Zayn quickly waved a hand and sent out magic to keep their quarrel from being heard by anyone outside the room -- “After Ishraq died, you loved nothing. You loved no one. You turned a blind eye to everything around you.”

“Louis --”

“No,” Louis cut him off. “You allowed your grief to consume any reason you had. The Council was corrupt, and you did nothing to stop it -- you went along with it.”

“My loyalty is to the Council,” Zayn said.

“Your loyalty is _shit_ ,” Louis said, spitting at the ground in front of Zayn’s feet.

They both went still from the shock of the insult.

It took every bit of control Zayn possessed to keep himself from fighting Louis. Zayn knew despite the quarrel they were having, despite the heightened emotions and suffocating rage, he would regret a decision such as that deeply.

“I thought I could resolve this,” Zayn said, after another long moment. He met the amethyst of Louis’ eyes, saw the quiet shame there under his anger and ached deeply for the relationship they once had. “But this is your problem. You blame me greatly for many things that were never my responsibility.”

“You could had done so much,” Louis started, voice low and neutral. Tension bled from the space around them, enough that Zayn did not feel as if they were teetering on the sharp edge of a deadly fight.

“But I did not,” Zayn reminded him. “My loyalty to Ishraq is the reason I stayed with the Council, why I remain with it. They built Awen from the ground up. I could not abandon it.”

“This Awen is not Ishraq’s Awen,” Louis replied. “Don’t pretend it is. Stupidity is unbecoming.”

Zayn could barely keep the smile off his face. That was most recognizable thing Louis said this entire time.

“I have no illusions,” Zayn told him. His next words felt like a confession, one he did not know he needed to make: “But I have no other loyalty. I have no other home.”

“That is not your home,” Louis said quietly. The agitation was starting to unwind from Louis; Zayn can see his shoulders start to fall. There was still anger, but Zayn did not fear Louis would try to do something thoughtless like ignite his magic. “You know it, but you refuse to make a new one.”

“And I have told you why,” Zayn replied, lowering his voice as well. He felt tired in a way he was not used to, drained from the conversation and the intensity of the feelings it incited. “And now there is Niall.”

When Louis did not respond right way, Zayn unlaced the cuff he bought from Griff and thrust his wrist towards Louis.

Louis took a step back. His eyes were wide when he looked at Zayn.

“I am _his_ ,” Zayn said.

“ _No_ ,” Louis said, shaking his head quickly. “No. There is no way, it can not be.”

“You know these markings,” Zayn replied. “You know what they mean.”

“He is not Ishraq,” Louis said, as if he was trying to convince himself. Perhaps he was thinking back on every encounter he had with Niall, attempting to make sense of it. Perhaps he was simply stunned, stood there watching Zayn dumbly.

“He is not,” Zayn agreed. “But he is of them.”

“You will ruin him,” Louis said, anger coming back to him all at once. Zayn could hear the way his heart surged, feel the way his magic went rigid. His words were a sharp blade in the middle of Zayn’s back, and he was stunned by them.

An unsaid accusation lingered in the air between them; Zayn knew Louis too well, knew his thoughts -- knew he was thinking of Ishraq’s fate.

A hot coal of shame sunk to the bottom of Zayn’s gut. He could feel the way his mouth twisted, the humiliating surge of emotion that made him want to gasp. There was a time when he would have torn Louis apart for such a proclamation, but all he felt was numbness and hurt.

“That was cruel,” Louis said quietly, after the silence lulled between them heavily. “Please forgive my words.”

“The Universe set us on this path,” Zayn replied harshly, tugging the cuff back on.

He felt emotion ghost through the bond, confusion and anger and worry all at once. Zayn wondered if it was the first time Niall sent something, or if he had been too caught up in Louis to notice. He had no handle on what he was feeling, so he did not respond, just finished covering the marks.

“Neither of us chose this, but we are here,” Zayn continued, when it was obvious Louis was content to stand there in his suspicious silence. “The reasoning might be unclear, but there is no escaping this.”

“You could stop this,” Louis said, another shake of his head, a rattling exhale. “You could leave him alone. You could _leave_ \-- ”

“Do you think that would work?” Zayn demanded. His patience with this conversation was nearly gone now. “Think of Ishraq, think of our bond.”

“You do not know Niall. You know nothing of him, or who he is. There is already --” Louis stopped himself and shook his head, jaw going tight. “You don’t know what you bring upon him by insisting you see this through.”

The words ignite Zayn’s curiosity, giving him pause.

“Tell me, then,” he said after a moment, watching Louis carefully.

“That’s not my place.” Louis shook his head once again. “But his life is not easy, nor is it safe. Being bonded to a Spirit loyal to the Council will make it that much more difficult.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Zayn said primly. He did not, and if Louis would not tell him, then he did not need to feel guilty about it. If Niall felt imminent danger, Zayn assumed he would not bother with their bond at all. But he was bothering with it, and that was all Zayn needed to ignore Louis’ words.

Which Louis knew, Zayn was sure.

“Reverse the bond,” Louis said forcefully.

“You know I can not do that,” Zayn said. He could not wrap his mind around it. He could not fathom being able to let go of these scars now that he had them once again. “I know the magic that tethers our souls. It will not be ignored.”

“You are Zayn, Destroyer of Nations,” Louis said with a laugh completely devoid of humor. “One of the greatest Spirit Dwellers to exist in the human realm. Your power is abundant, your curses are mighty. There are beings who tremble unwillingly when they hear your name. You are the Demon of God’s Blood -- you _can_ do it, but you do not want to, so you _won’t_.”

Zayn did not bother pointing out that the mage who created the bond must break it. That _Niall_ would have to be the one to sever their tie. Louis knew, and Louis knew that Zayn _could_ ask, and it was likely Niall would do what Zayn asked, but Louis also knew that he was right.

Zayn did not want to ask, he did not want this to end before it had even begun. He wanted to know where this would take him. He wanted to know what would happen.

Zayn did not want to ask. He did not want to lose Niall.

Zayn wanted _Niall_.

Louis did not bother repeating himself or pushing the subject, he just slumped against the wall and tilted his head back, eyes dropping shut. “I will give this thought,” he said quietly. “I will consider your accusations that I begrudge you unfairly. I will consider forgiveness in whatever ways I might be able --”

“My thanks,” Zayn said drily.

“ _I will_ reassess how I regard you,” Louis continued, head dropping to glare at Zayn for the interruption. “I will do these things because I care for Niall, and refuse to let him see this through alone. _If_ that is what he wishes.”

“Of course,” Zayn laughed, he could not help himself. It was no surprise that Louis could not admit what they both knew -- that he still cared for Zayn, and that within him there was the capacity to forgive Zayn, and that he _wanted_ to forgive Zayn, and that he was curious about this as well. Zayn pressed his palm to his chest and extended his hand in a sarcastic salute. “For Niall.”

 

 

Louis of Zephys, Demon of the Sky People.

Nearly as old as Zayn, a spirit of considerable power with great loyalty to the Council and the Campaigns. Through conviction or coincidence, Zayn could not say, but Louis was a spirit who aligned himself firmly and rarely waivered.

The mage he was bound to was Kiena, a fiery spirited woman of the Sky with skin like a robin’s egg and eyes so light they were almost silver. She was born with gamayun and human blood, and whilst she was unable to make the transformation into the gamayun’s true form, she was imbued with magic and graced with the ability to summon spirits.

The human part of her made her more reckless than the rest of her people, and prone to bouts of boredom that led her into trouble. Eventually, she was sent away from the peaceful Sky Islands and sent to a ground city flourishing under the most talented mages to ever exist: Awen.

There she was taken in, taught to make the most of the power inside her. There she summoned Louis, decided she was to be a knight, and entered the Campaigns as a captain.

She became most famed for her ruthlessness and her philosophical oddity, experimental when she was not on the battlefield and spending much time studying alchemy. She wanted to figure out a process to displace energy _outside_ herself in a way that would allow Spirits to reside in the human realm without a mage controlling them.

It took many, many years, but she transferred her bond with Louis to the bronze cuffs he wore, releasing him from her control.

Thus was the beginning of the end.

There was plenty of legend that concerns itself with Louis of Zephys’ downfall. Whispers and rumors told and songs sung, but Zayn was there and he knew the reality of it.

Kiena’s last battle was a triumph unlike any before. Through a feat of great and terrible magic, she bent fear into the minds of the opposition, and they fought each other instead of her armies, but Louis was bound to the cuffs, and she was unable to rely on his energy for assistance or reprieve.

When she tried to extract herself from the current of her own magic, it devoured her.

Most in the lower city assumed Louis was destroyed as well, that his essence was taken with his mage, but he remained. He remained alone, without a mage, stricken by the cause of her sudden death.

Time passed, and what was once unquestioning loyalty to the Counsel became questioning. Ishraq died, and the Counsel changed, and Louis’ loyalty changed. It became bitter and full of resentment, and eventually radicalized. Louis of Zephys became Louis Cirrusborn, and he made a reputation built on an ideology of insurgency.

The rumors of dissent amongst commoners, the rumors of rogues and rebels, the very real attacks on palace convoys, and the disruption of important correspondence, and all other forms of sabotage -- he had a part in it. In all of it.

Louis Cirrusborn, the Rogue.

Liberator of Awen.


	3. moving through the event horizon

 

The next time Niall lifted his purse, Zayn knew it was going to happen.

It said much about Niall that he was such an accomplished thief. Light on his feet, his movements expertly disguised in the natural rhythm of the crowd so even Zayn’s heightened senses had difficulty picking up on his person. If it were not for their bond, Zayn certainly would not know he was being followed.

The magic that tethered them allowed Zayn to feel Niall when he entered the alleyway and allowed Zayn to track him by that feeling alone as he moved closer. It kept Zayn aware, kept his own magic focused on Niall’s; a compass tugging at the edges of his essence, insistent and unrelenting.

Niall waited until the crowd was particularly thick to move closer, coming at Zayn crossways with his head down. This time, Zayn caught Niall’s hand as it slid towards his belt, the action disguised between the bodies of two other beings.

The beings came and went, but Niall was caught, grinning at Zayn as Zayn tugged him in by his wrist.

Zayn was pleased to see Niall was wearing the cuff Zayn gave him -- the dark leather one with the golden ties; Zayn kept the colorful one, oddly embarrassed that he bought two, unsure how to give Niall more than one gift -- but he was disappointed in equal measure, as well.

The desire to touch Niall’s scars grew stronger the more they saw each other, a deep ache under his breastbone that could only be explained by the fact that he was touch-starved and felt as if he _should_ be able to touch --

“You are very good at that,” Zayn said, pulling Niall closer still. They disrupted the movement of the crowd being stopped the way that they were; it slowed and parted, like water around river rocks.

“Natural talent,” Niall said, breaking away from Zayn’s loose grip and nudging Zayn so they were walking once again.

It was fitting that they had this exchange in Goldvein Alley, a full circle encounter of sorts. It was one of Dwes’ more popular marketplaces, a long corridor crowded with stalls and tents, a wide array of goods from all over. Far more varied than the vendors who made their living out of The Dancing Demon. More food, for one; cheaper, as well.

Goldvein was one of the only places that got natural light. The ceiling vaults were high, higher than any other in the underground. Up the walls were a zigzag of large, polished mirrors -- somewhere topside there was a mirror directing sunlight down. The filtered rays created a soft, glowing effect on everything around them. It felt like a dream.

“You were not so skilled the first time we met.” There was something undeniably clumsy about the way Niall knocked into Zayn, the way he paused to steady them both.

“Maybe I wasn’t tryin’ t’ be skilled,” Niall said, so quiet Zayn nearly missed it. Looking at him, Zayn could see a pink flush work its way over Niall’s cheeks.

Interesting.

“Were you?” Zayn asked, allowing Niall to lead them through the crowd. It did not seem as if he had any true aim, but there must have been a reason for him to be in Goldvein in the first place.

Niall laughed. “No, I --” He shakes his head, as if he was embarrassed. “I could’ve done better, but I didn’t.”

“Purposefully?” Zayn asked, not caring if he sounded eager.

“Obviously I lapsed into madness.” There was a defensiveness in Niall’s tone that delighted Zayn. “Got this lovely brand for me troubles.” Niall gestured widely with his left hand. He did not seem angry about it.

“Perhaps you should have not have been caught, then,” Zayn said slowly, pushing into the subject as one would a bruise. Louis’ words lingered in his mind, and Zayn was far too curious for his own good. “A thief should know better than to stop or slow.”

Niall narrowed his eyes. “I know plenty,” he said. Then, “I’m not a thief.” And, “I didn’t stop _or_ slow.”

“I suppose everyone has days where they are not as good as they should be,” Zayn said generously. Two fiery headed banshees cut a path between them, but he did not miss the indignant look on Niall’s face. Zayn hid a smile.

“Well, if I hadn’t,” Niall said, when they came back together. Zayn reached for him instinctively, guiding him to the outside of the crowd by his elbow. "We would not have found each other.”

“So it _was_ on purpose,” Zayn said smugly.

The look Niall gave him was utterly exasperated, but Zayn ignored it as he guided Niall further down to a stall that caught his eye. There were packages wrapped in thick paper and bound with twine floating at eye level, two columns of magic keeping them in place.

On the ground sat on a thick blanket, a lazy bear watching as Zayn tossed a piece of gold into the slipstream of magic. In return, one of the packages dropped into his hand. The bear grunted and rubbed their stomach, rolling over.

“What is that?” Niall asked, frowning at Zayn as he tugged the twine holding the paper shut. It unfurled like flower petals. In Zayn’s palm sat a sizeable cut of honeycomb, practically glistening. Niall was still frowning.

“It is honeycomb,” Zayn said flatly, trying not to make it sound like a question. Surely Niall had seen honeycomb before. He broke off a piece and held it out for Niall.

Niall stared at it. “Demons don’t eat.”

“We do not _have_ to eat,” Zayn said, rolling his eyes. He took a bite, savoring the thick stickiness. Some trickled down his wrist, but he saved it, licking his skin clean.

Next to him, Niall hissed and wrapped his hand around his left wrist, pressing down hard enough that Zayn felt the pressure through the cuff. “Don’t _do that_ ,” he said, cheeks going considerably pink.

“Do what?” Zayn asked innocently, taking another bite. It was incredibly messy, that kind of thing could not be helped.

“Lick yer fuckin’ arm like y’ have no manners,” Niall said sharply. “I know you have a bracelet as well.”

“Forgot it in my room,” Zayn lied. Truth be told, Zayn did not know why he did not wear it. It was there on the low table next to the bed; he simply decided to leave without.

Niall gave him a dubious look, as if he knew Zayn was being dishonest, and plucked what was left of the honeycomb out of Zayn’s fingers. A surprised little moan escaped him when he took a bite, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Goddess, that’s amazing.”

“Like I said.” Zayn broke off another piece and handed it to Niall. “We do not have to eat, but I find I enjoy sweets more than most other food.”

“And y’ have enough gold to spent on shite like honey,” Niall said, toasting Zayn with his piece before shoving it in his mouth.

“May I tell you a secret?” Zayn asked as they started to move again.

Niall looked at him with narrowed eyes, so suspicious that Zayn laughed.

“Every six months I make my way down to the market. There are merchants there from the southern forests who specialize in this --” he broke off another piece and popped it in his mouth -- “They have wooden frames that they bring. Boxes of them. Each frame was a full of honeycomb.”

“How big?” Niall asked.

“Bit shorter than my torso,” Zayn said, grinning. He handed Niall another piece. “Depending on how I feel, it could last up to a twelvemonth.”

“That sounds like a waste of gold,” Niall said, hiding a smile behind sticky fingers.

“Indeed.” Zayn shrugged, looking away so he did not watch Niall lick them clean. “It is an indulgence.”

“What else do you indulge in?” Niall asked, squeezing close to Zayn as they passed a group of hybrids -- lots of fur, and hooves, and horns, and strange noises accompanying their words as they passed.

Zayn thought of The Chimera’s Tongue and Louis, and Harry telling him that war was not _fun_ , and said, “Nothing you would approve of, I am sure.”

Niall gave Zayn a considering look. “You do not know me.”

“Indeed,” Zayn agreed, shaking his fingers free of honey and tying up the honeycomb. “But I can admit I make many assumptions about humans -- and about you.”

“About me?” Niall asked, frowning. They slowed again, interrupting the flow of the market once more.

Zayn guided Niall to the outside of the crowd, allowing his fingers to linger on the inside of Niall’s arm a moment too long.

“What have you assumed about me?” Niall asked, once they were out of the way. They paused next to an empty stall, tucking themselves into the side of it.

“I knew you were a local when you made off with my gold,” Zayn said. They were very close, talking quietly now. They both smelt like honey and dust. “And that you were a commoner by your clothes, and that you were driven to steal because you were a commoner -- poor.”

Niall did not speak, so Zayn went on.

“I assumed Northerner by your skin color, and I assumed you were a man by the assumption that you were a Northerner,” Zayn shrugged, reaching forward to catch the golden laces of Niall’s cuff. “I assumed you would be afraid of my eyes when I dropped my guise --”

“But you were wrong,” Niall said, looking between them where Zayn was holding his wrist loosely.

“I assumed you were a mage by the magic you wrote on the walls between us --”

“And you were wrong,” Niall said, sharp but quiet enough to keep them in the moment. He did not pull away.

Niall was a mage, but Zayn did not say so.

“I assumed you would break the bond the moment you woke up,” Zayn admitted, voice dipping low so they would not be overheard. He tugged slowly at the tie, listened to the way Niall’s heart picked up and his magic responded to the tension, spiking in the air around them. “When you did not, I assumed you did not know how.”

Niall stayed quiet as Zayn unlaced the cuff, stayed so still for Zayn even as his magic vibrated at a frequency high enough to attract more than one fairy light.

“But then I thought, perhaps that was not it,” Zayn said, resisting the urge to smile. Once there was enough room, he pushed the leather up Niall’s arm so he could see the peony pink of the three scars against Niall’s pale wrist. So there was space to run his fingers over them, to feel them.

Niall hissed when Zayn touched them, undoubtedly getting the same feeling Zayn was -- the feeling of both touching and being touched, the curiosity that had plagued Zayn since this had begun, the aching need for more that did not come from Zayn alone.

The magic around them was making his skin prickly and hot, tying his stomach in knots.

“Perhaps it was not that you did not know how,” Zayn said. He could not stop touching the marks, rubbing his thumb over them, feeling the texture of them. He traced his name over them once, twice, feeling settled in it. Niall kept still, but his heart was raging in Zayn’s ears, a white noise that made Zayn deliciously dizzy. “Perhaps it was that you do not want to break the bond.”

“Why would I?” Niall asked, voice rough. He did not move away, but Zayn pulled down the cuff anyway, tightening the laces once again, feeling silly that he indulged the urge.

He wished to ask Niall about Louis’ words, to ask if Louis was being honest. He wished to ask if the bond would complicate Niall’s life -- if it would bring him trouble, or disgrace -- but Zayn could not bring himself to remind Niall of external influences. He wished Niall’s mind stay on the two of them, on what was between them.

“You know who I am,” Zayn said, instead of asking any of those things. The fragility of the moment crumbled around them. “Why would you not?”

Niall did not answer him. Instead he asked, “What was last night about?”

Zayn blinked at the abrupt change of subject, but he was not surprised. Another assumption Zayn made was that Niall was stubborn -- that charming sort of stubborn that kept secrets and did not want to give too much away.

Ishraq was of a similar disposition.

“What, Harry?” Zayn asked, humoring Niall. The tension of the moment before slipped away easily. The magic settled, the fairy lights scattered once again. “They are protective, that is all.”

“Y’know that’s not what I mean.” Niall was the one to grab Zayn’s elbow this time, steering him back into the flow of the crowd so they could resume their wandering.

“That is what I would be curious about. A friend of a friend trying to kill your friend.”

There was a laugh. When Zayn looked at Niall, his cheeks were pink. “Are we friends?” he asked.

“Perhaps you think I share my honey with any passing stranger,” Zayn teased. They were so much more than friends -- the very nature of their bond demanded it -- but he was curious to know how Niall regarded them. More seriously, he asked, “Do you want us to be?”

Niall did not bother replying to that either. “I was worried when y’ and Louis disappeared as well, reckoned you’d kill each other. I understand why Harry was bothered.”

“You did not try to tear a hole in him with a Holy Arrow the moment he stepped outside of my inn room, though,” Zayn reminded him. “Harry did do that.”

“They did,” Niall said, with a short laugh. “I’m glad they had the sense to look to you first.”

“As am I,” Zayn agreed, but he _was_ incredibly amused by the look of horror on Louis’ face when he pulled open the door and was confronted with the sharp point of compressed energy. Whilst Harry might not be the most intimidating of demons, their Holy Arrow was a force to be reckoned with.

“So Louis,” Niall said pointedly.

“I know him,” Zayn said. “As he said, our story is long and boring.”

And not a story Zayn could tell without making accusations against Niall’s character. He had many questions about why Niall and Louis keep company the way they did. Close enough for Louis to be protective -- close enough for Niall to be so curious.

“And I’m eager to hear it,” Niall said.

Zayn was eager to know whether or not his new mage had an alliance with one of the most notorious insurgents in the Seven Kingdoms, but that was a conversation that must be approached with more consideration than Zayn had time to give.

“One day you might,” Zayn hummed. Secrets could only remain secrets for so long when two were bonded, body and soul.

Just as Zayn assumed he would, Niall let it go.

 

 

Time passed quickly in Niall’s company. Zayn did not think about the others whilst he explored with Niall. He did not know what inspired Niall to go to the market this morning, or what kept him by Zayn’s side, but Zayn could not complain.

The tense conversations from earlier gave way to meaningless talk, both of them eager to shed the heaviness of what was left unsaid. They commented on the market and the wares being sold. Zayn learned that Niall’s eye caught on practical goods, whilst Zayn’s found the unconventional -- they seemed to be complete opposites, but Zayn found that he enjoyed it more than anything.

At times, Zayn could not keep himself from turning scholarly, telling Niall far too much information about something they came across or a subject they touched on, words twisting into tangents. Niall let him go on, making appropriate faces and noises in the right places; Zayn did not know if he had interest in the subjects, but it was nice to be able to talk about it.

Many close to Zayn grew tired of his pedantry quickly, and Zayn had not had a new companion in a long while. He was sure Niall would stop caring eventually, so he might as well talk for as long as Niall let him.

They criss-crossed many subjects, telling each other inconsequential details about themselves. Getting to know each other without giving too much away. Niall was far more travelled than Zayn could have guessed. Far more literate, as well, even though his language skills were limited.

More surprising things about Niall that Zayn tucked away in his mind to examine later.

It was impossible to tell the time of day when they made their way down to the amphitheater, but their meandering around the city led them there in time to catch the middle of a performance.

The amphitheater sat in the side of the chasm a ways down from the main square, a wide set of stairs on the west side leading down to the semicircle of steps that composed the seating gallery.

Each step was an uninterrupted piece of polished stone imported from Northern mountains. It remained cool to the touch no matter the temperature around it or how many bodies came in contact with it. It kept the air in the amphitheatre down despite the number of bodies in the small space.

The stage was framed by the same stone, elaborately carved with decoration. There were four people on the stage: two mages and two demons. It appeared as if they were fighting, but it was carefully choreographed so no blows landed and no magic connected.

“It’s like a dance,” Niall commented, as they settled.

“It is a dance,” Zayn agreed.

Once upon a time, it would be real. There would be blood and shouting and howling. There would be magic meant to do harm instead of magic meant to awe a crowd.

He and Ishraq used to challenge people when they needed coin -- before Awen, before their names were known. The young mage and the protective demon, brawling in the amphitheater -- and the square, and wherever else they were met. Usually, they did not kill, but they did damage.

It was always good fun, always a rush of excitement to hear the crowd in their ears and the hot push of Ishraq’s magic through him as he fought.

As Niall said before, Zayn did not know him very well, but he did not think that type of thing would appeal to the human. It was a long time ago, anyway. That style of gambling had been outlawed for decades, if not centuries.

“‘M not sure I get it,” Niall said after a moment, voice dropping low. A few beings around him heard, shooting him an amused glance. His spine went straight when he realized, cheeks coloring with pink.

“It is only a show,” Zayn reassured him, stifling his own amusement for Niall’s sake. “The larger the spectacle of magic, the more powerful we could assume the duo to be. In any fight, the most powerful wins.”

“Ah,” Niall said absently, continuing to watch. He rested his chin on his palm, blue eyes keen on the stage.

One pair moved in the exact same way at the exact same time, a hard echo that allowed their magic to build upon itself. The other mage conducted their demon like a puppet, allowing their magic to become the strings -- the demon could take as much energy as they needed, moving forward into the other demon’s space.

Niall followed every movement made carefully, observing -- absorbing.

Zayn scooted closer to Niall so he could talk quietly. “They move like an ocean,” he said, letting himself lean against Niall a bit. Niall did not move away. “Like a tide -- watch -- their magic surges between them then recedes, over and over as it builds momentum.”

“They share magic?” Niall asked, giving Zayn pause.

“Of course,” Zayn laughed. “That is the most fundamental concept between those bonded.”

“Sorry,” Niall said, far more sharply than Zayn anticipated. “Didn’t go t’ mage school, don’t know how it works.”

“I know you do not,” Zayn said, blinking. Moments such as that served to remind him that he and Niall did not come from the same place. Their lives were vastly different, as was their knowledge. A fact that Zayn regarded as commonly known was something Niall had not heard of in all his years alive.

Niall did not respond, mouth pulling tight at the corners. Zayn could feel his annoyance as if it were a palpable thing, another sore spot.

Zayn waited in silence for a moment before saying, “That is something we will work on together -- building that pathway.”

“‘Course,” Niall said, knees drawn close to his chest with his chin resting on one. He looked impossibly young, young and tired, and he did not meet Zayn’s eyes. “Like bein’ soulmates isn’t enough, got to have all these secret ways t’ be connected.”

Zayn was stunned into silence for so long, Niall did look at him.

“What?” he demanded, cheeks going even more pink -- if it was possible.

“You surprise me, Niall,” Zayn admitted. A blush of his own warming his cheeks. It felt particularly vulnerable knowing that was how Niall regarded them. _Soulmates_ was the most accurate word for what they were, but Zayn did not think Niall would speak it so soon.

“Won’t be the last time,” Niall said, amusement coloring his voice, cocksure attitude coming back as quickly as it was gone. Mask slipping back into place.

Their gaze held for a minute longer before they turned back to the performance. Once again letting what was left unsaid settle, mounting between them. It was the third time they had been in each other’s company, and there was already much there.

They were dragons, hoarding unspoken secrets; foolish for it.

Zayn watched the stage without seeing what was happening. He felt Niall’s magic in his periphery -- prickling the edges of his senses, begging to distract him.

There was a tension between him and Niall. Not entirely a tension of the body, but a tension of essence. Niall might not know what a magical connection felt like, but Zayn did. His energy ached to explore the medians and the movement of Niall’s body, ached to know what it felt like.

Ishraq’s magic was a heady rush, heavy and warm and full of spice. It moved thickly through Zayn, took its time building upon Zayn’s magic. When Zayn thought of Niall’s magic, he thought of the ocean -- of currents, and tides, and waves against shorelines -- and imagined the energy rushing through him, breaking over him.

“What are you doing?” Niall asked quietly, leaning into Zayn.

Zayn blinked and pulled his magic in, away from Niall. It was reaching for him without Zayn realizing, inspired by Zayn’s musing.

“Trying to share,” Zayn said, grinning sharply, as if it was done with purpose. His magic felt wild, eager in a way Zayn had not felt in many years.

“Could you?” Niall asked, voice hushed in awe.

The sound of it made Zayn’s grin stretch impossibly wide. Instead of answering, he took Niall’s left hand and maneuvered it so they were loosely holding hands -- keeping space between their palms as he envisioned a pathway, small and private. He imagined his energy -- bright and light and invisible -- flowing into the enclosure of their hands, seeking Niall.

There was little give to Niall’s magic. It was locked up tight behind chain and padlock, self-conscious in its existence. Zayn sought to coax it out, fingers twitching as he attempted to thread their magic together. It prickled his skin, as a sewing needle would.

“Perhaps I cannot,” Zayn admitted, letting the energy go for a moment. The air around them was buzzing from his attempt. When Niall looked at him, his eyes shone weakly.

“That is a shame.” Niall frowned, squeezing Zayn’s hand a bit before turning back to the performance. He did not untangle their fingers or withdraw his touch, so Zayn did not move away.

Instead, he kept trying -- kept visualizing the pathway and their magic, tangled together.

He leaned into Niall’s side, felt Niall’s warmth, and closed his eyes -- saw Niall as essence, a being of light next to Zayn’s Spirit. Different and the same, all at once. Deep cyan next to Zayn’s imagined soft red. To differentiate, Zayn told himself, but it was more nostalgia than anything.

Not that it mattered. He breathed into the colors, saturated his red with Niall’s blue. A steady exchange of energy that would not _actually_ happen. Niall’s magic remained tightly controlled, close to his body, refusing to yield.

If only there were an easier way, a more direct --

 _Oh_.

Zayn shook off Niall’s hand, eyes snapping open as he tugged at the tie that held the leather cuff shut, undoing the knot. Apparently, he should not have bothered giving it to Niall today, since all he had done was loosen it to touch Niall’s skin.

“What -- _Goddess_.” Niall flinched, but he did not tear his arm away when Zayn covered the scars with his hand. The bond grew warm under his palm, under the magic Zayn attempted to push through his touch, and Niall’s magic softened the smallest amount.

“Ah,” Zayn said, happily. In the grand scheme of things it was nothing, but it was a start.

“I don’t --” Niall frowned down at their hands, hidden in the space between them now that Zayn’s magic was starting to amplify. The creatures around them would feel the disturbance soon unless they moved.

Which was probably what they should do, considering Niall was very new to this. Zayn did not want to attract unnecessary attention to them.

“Come,” Zayn said, rising and pulling a bewildered looking Niall upright as well.

Those around them made disgruntled noises as they momentarily disrupted the show, but Zayn was past caring as he tugged Niall along. Up the seats, weaving through the beings and the groups of beings whilst keeping all his magic focused on Niall. Focused on the point where they were touching.

The amphitheater must have a barrier to keep noise out; as soon as they got a dozen paces from the top seat, commotion exploded all around them. Chatter and laughter and music so loud Zayn was momentarily lost in his confusion. Only then did he realize it was the night of the full moon and that there was a festival, and technically they were there to take part in the festival.

Zayn had forgotten.

The main square hosted a large bonfire in its center, surrounded by musicians and dancers. The energy of the music and movement affected the crowd, everyone swaying to the same pulse. There were colorful lights everywhere -- fairy, and glass and paper lanterns. There were banners and streamers, an array of magic in the air that twisted and twirled to the beat of whichever drum was playing the loudest.

Niall did not seem startled at all, face politely neutral as he fixed their hands -- once again, sliding their fingers together so they were in a more natural position. Less strange than Zayn’s fingers locked tightly around Niall’s wrist, Zayn was sure, pleased that Niall had the insight.

Zayn was still far too distracted by the tension caused by their magic, crackling like fire beneath the surface of his skin. That wild feeling was back inside of him, and Zayn did not know what to do with it.

“Where were you taking me?” Niall demanded, but he made no attempt to stop Zayn as Zayn led him with purpose across the outskirts of the bonfire and through the crowd gathered around it.

In truth, Zayn did not know, but he wished to be alone for whatever might happen. If they succeeded, he did not want anyone to witness the first time they connected. Already, too much of Zayn was made vulnerable by Niall -- his magic, his presence at Zayn’s side, his entire _existence_.

He did not wish to share that.

The majority of the commotion was centered around the square and the fire. It took no time at all to find a dark, empty alley for them to disappear into. The space between the two buildings was small. Further down, there was a torch lit outside of the entrance to a door with a sign above marked ‘INN’, but there was no one to disturb them.

“Is this where you plan to kill me?” Niall teased, as Zayn slouched against the wall and pulled him closer.

There was space between their bodies, but there might as well have been none with the way their magic was warming the air around them. It grew heavier with every beat of Niall’s heart -- quick and frantic -- though his face remained carefully neutral as he watched Zayn.

“Ay,” Zayn agreed, grinning. He raised his right hand, still clasped with Niall’s left, level to his chest before untangling their fingers. Once their hands were flat, he rotated his wrist, sliding his palm over Niall’s, creating friction. Sparks leapt between them. “Rather not have a mage, if it is all the same to you.”

“Figures a wicked demon would take out his mage so soon,” Niall replied, watching their hands with unwavering focus.

Zayn imagined a pathway, summoned his energy, and pushed it through himself to Niall. It erupted bright blue, no longer caring if it was seen, licking over their skin. It was frenzied, desperately searching for a way to pass into Niall.

“I cannot help it,” Zayn said, allowing his magic to surge forward stronger than before as he slid his fingers down over Niall’s three scars lightly, deeping the connection through touch. This time, Niall’s magic was softer for him -- more accepting. Blue moved over Niall’s hand, settled around the bond as they both shivered. “I find little use for humans.”

“Shame,” Niall said lightly, looking at Zayn with bright eyes, burning with the light inside him.

He was closer, now. Zayn did not know how he missed that, but he could feel the rise and fall of Niall’s chest, feel when Niall shifted his weight. At their side, their opposite hands tangled loosely, fingers caught together as if they could not stand to be apart -- whether on purpose or by accident, Zayn could not say.

Magic pressed on them from all sides. Fire raged behind Zayn’s breast bone, his skin prickled, his nerves sparked. He thought he would have a better handle on this when it happened -- he thought he knew what to expect from it, how it would feel -- but he was completely overwhelmed, lost in sensation as Niall trapped him against the wall.

“Why is that?” Zayn asked belatedly.

“I could be useful,” Niall said, with a smirk, looking up at Zayn through his lashes.

Zayn’s stomach turned over at that, hot and heavy, and he wished to kiss Niall -- wished to touch every inch of him, wished to _consume_ him, wished to be a _part_ of him in ways that were not allowed by nature or magic.

The desire anchored deep in his chest, threading itself with Niall’s magic, and drawing their energy inward. Niall must have felt it too, letting out a gasp as Zayn caught his left wrist with purpose, fingers pressing down on the scars.

Niall’s magic became more malleable the longer they touched. It was not a fight of spirit as Zayn expected; there was no force behind this attempt. It was a playful coaxing, a push and a pull that Zayn did not anticipate. His lungs felt heavy as their magic teased back and forth, a dance that took place in the space between their bodies.

To anyone looking in they would appear as… lovers, perhaps. With Niall at his front, pressing Zayn into the wall, they were obviously lost to some kind of intimacy. He could not look away from the blue of Niall’s eyes, nor did he want to. He could imagine the look on his face, something soft and indulgent. Niall watched him similarly, something like awe on his own countenance that indulged the wildness inside of Zayn.

Zayn realized he had not answered Niall, but he did not know the appropriate words, so he did not say anything. Instead he concentrated on the power mounting between them, the vibrations of Niall’s magic as Zayn attempted to be as persuasive as possible with his own.

“Zayn,” Niall said, voice hushed.

The sound of his name on Niall’s lips was absolutely saccharine, honey sweet and intoxicating. No one had ever said his name in such a way, and no one would ever again. It put that heat back in Zayn’s gut, made him tense and pliable all at once, magic even _more_ eager for a connection.

Zayn hummed in acknowledgement, far too focused on Niall and his magic to coax words to his tongue.

“I feel --” Niall shook his head, finally breaking eye contact for the first time in what seemed like ages. It snapped Zayn out of the trance he had fallen into, lifted a bit of the haze from his mind as Niall tried once more, “This is --”

He cut himself off, again.

“I know,” Zayn said, feeling Niall’s apprehension. He did know. He felt overwhelmed by it, completely untethered. He found the courage to reach out with his empty hand and caress Niall’s jaw. A reassuring touch somehow more intimate than their attempts to connect.

Niall started to respond, breath catching on the inhale, when the inn door opened loudly, startling them both apart.

Three large figures emerged, sound of voices and music swelling behind them loudly before the door slammed shut. Niall jerked away, putting distance between them as he shook his hands free of magic, warily watching the three get their bearings, heartbeat spiking loud enough that one turned to look at them.

From the charcoal dark of their skin and the icy blue of their eyes, Zayn knew the three were berserkers -- a race of female warriors that belonged to the cult of the Northern goddess Arae.

This one was smaller than the others. The one paw mark on her upper chest signified she was young, having not yet earned her second. It was not ink, Zayn knew, but a burn -- skin scarring bright wide like tundra snow.

“Niall,” she said, light and easy, pleased even.

“Björn,” Niall answered warmly, with a smile that was only partially forced.

It was only then that Zayn noticed Niall had cast a glamor, holding fast to tendrils of Zayn’s magic to extend the spell to him. One that masked their hearts from being heard by keen ears and covered the nuance of their scents.

Zayn remained against the wall, keeping still. A demon in the midst of berserkers never ended pleasantly. It would not matter how well Niall knew them if they spotted Zayn. Niall must have been aware of this. The glamor was powerful enough to keep eyes from wandering to Zayn unbidden.

The strength of it opened his magic to Zayn in a way that it was not before.

“I did not know you returned to Dwes, little brother,” Björn said, extending a hand. Niall stepped forward and clasped her forearm, allowing the berserker to pull him into a hug.

Cautiously, Zayn’s own magic followed the threads of it, deeper into Niall’s energy as Niall nodded at the two berserkers behind Björn and said, “For the festival, and then I am away again.”

“ _Introduce us_ ,” one demanded, timbre of her voice deeper than Björn’s. She spoke Ursdae, vowels round and drawn out. This one was old enough to have two paw marks on her chest and many scars decorating her skin, white against dark like the star patterns that adorned the sky.

“ _It is Louis’ human_ ,” Björn replied quickly, smiling apologetically at Niall.

The words made hot jealousy spike in his veins without invitation. It was a feeling Zayn could not indulge. He had to remind himself that he was entering Niall’s life in the middle of his story. That he stepped into it without warning. There had been much that Zayn was not a part of -- much that included Louis and creatures who acted as if Niall was one of them instead of a soft, pink human...

The larger one snarled rudely, lips peeling back from sharp teeth as Niall watched with a polite look on his face. “Louis’ human,” she said, tongue clumsy around the words as they adjusted to the language. “We have much to talk about with Louis after the last moon.”

“Doesn’t really talk on festival nights,” Niall replied, shrugging easily. The glamor kept the others from hearing his heart, but to Zayn it was loud and anxious.

The vulnerability allowed Zayn’s magic to sink against Niall’s further, and Zayn did not keep it from doing so. He allowed his senses to be submerged in Niall’s energy in every way but the physical.

“M’sure after sunrise he’d see y’, but not sooner,” he heard Niall say -- distantly, as if Zayn was underwater.

That was what Niall’s magic felt like, water. At the surface was the magic that Zayn had dealt with up until this point -- easily accessible, easy to tease his way into, light like sunbeams glittering on a shallow beach. But there was something else -- Zayn pushed deeper, curious.

The energy underneath was resistant to his efforts. A hard wall that would not fold for Zayn despite the way he was connected with Niall. He magic reached out and felt something colder, something darker that made him shiver --

“ _We should persuade him_ ,” the third berserker barked out, laughing.

The rumbling honesty of the threat pulled Zayn’s attention away from the darkness, turned him back to what was happening in front of him. Before Zayn realized what he was doing, he was already gathering some of their magic and preparing himself for a confrontation, holding it just under the surface of his skin.

But Niall’s magic was pushing it back, quelling Zayn’s reaction whilst Niall coyly said, “ _I would not do that._ ” The words were rough and unpracticed, but the two larger berserkers blinked at him whilst the third hid a chuckle in her shoulder. “ _This is not your land_.”

There was a moment where Zayn thought perhaps the berserkers would keeping arguing, or posture in hopes of intimidating Niall, but they looked to each other and then to the smallest one -- still laughing at them in the way young ones did -- and shrugged.

“ _Tomorrow, then_ ,” Björn said, when the others did not volunteer any words. When the two turned their back and walked towards the mouth of the alley, Björn winked at Niall. “ _Watch your back, little brother_.”

“ _Always_ ,” Niall reassured her, grasping her forearm again before she left.

The three disappeared in the opposite direction. Niall remained stood in the same spot whilst Zayn attempted to dive again, but the connection that allowed Zayn in before was shrinking, closing itself to him --

Niall stumbled into the wall opposite Zayn, releasing their magic as he exhaled heavily. It snapped back like a rope cut after having been pulled taut, recoiling into Zayn so tightly he felt breathless and cold and confused.

Niall looked up, face unreadable. Zayn did not know if he felt what transpired between their magic during the conversation, but Zayn did not ask -- he did not know why did not, but he did not.

It was only a moment before Niall smoothed out his expression altogether. “Reckon I should find Louis,” he said slowly, pushing off the wall. He dusted off his trousers even though they were no more dirty than they were before and walked towards the mouth of the alley without looking back, forcing Zayn to catch up with him.

“What was that?” Zayn asked. When he fell into step, he kept his distance, feeling unsure. The shift in tension in the alley was sudden and disconcerting, and Zayn did not know what he was allowed to do now that their connection was gone. Now that they were away from that feeling of intimacy they had before they were interrupted.

Niall was closed off once again, and Zayn was at a loss.

“We shared magic,” Niall deflected. It was less amusing this time, far more frustrating. “I was able to use your magic back there.”

“So we are not talking about the berserkers?” Zayn asked, allowing his tone to convey his annoyance.

“I don’t think that was the most interesting thing that happened just now,” Niall said.

“I do,” Zayn replied, but his mind immediately supplied him with the look on Niall’s face as they stood close together, and the way he tilted his cheek into the cradle of Zayn’s palm when Zayn touched him. That _was_ far more interesting, but they needed to talk about this.

“I think that is a lie,” Niall said, grinning sharply, a knowing look on his face.

There was no time for Zayn to retort, since they had found themselves back at the square, the edge of the crowd dense even far back from the bonfire. Niall produced his cuff from his belt and replaced it quickly, pulling the knot tight with his teeth. He looked out over the crowd for a moment, then turned to Zayn.

“C’mon then,” he said, lacing their fingers together as if it was expected of him.

Zayn allowed himself to be led, blood hot and mind dazed. It was too much to process at once. The feeling of magic between them, the connection that Zayn _missed_ now that it was gone; the tension the Arae warriors brought, the way it was so fleeting yet so significant; the way Niall dodged Zayn’s attempts to know more, but did not dismiss Zayn.

“This is… unexpected,” Zayn said, when they did find Louis -- stood around the inner circle of the crowd with Harry on his right and Liam on Harry’s right.

As they approached, all three turned to them, eyes dropping to where his hand was clasped with Niall’s. Liam’s reaction was one of polite surprise, much less smug than Harry’s knowing smirk. Predictably, Louis glared as he assessed them -- his face was not as unkind as it could be, but Zayn was sure that was for Niall’s sake above all else.

And, perhaps, to preserve his public presence.

There were others clustered around Louis that belonged to him, Zayn noted, recognizing the guarded body language of a few. They did not linger as close as Zayn’s companions, but they were all facing Louis, aware in a way many around the fire were not. The line of beings created a slight barricade between Louis and the rest of the loose limbed crowd. A crowd that would grow wilder as the night wore on.

There was nothing on Louis’ person except loose trousers in the Eastern style, tight around his calves, and simple bands of bronze encircling his ankles to match his cuffs. The firelight tinted his skin grey instead of sky blue, tattoos on his bare chest glowing in a way that meant he was holding his magic close to the surface.

A display of power. Without armor or weapons, but never vulnerable -- even in the midst of a crowd such as the one that gathered in the square. The Rogue must have a presence, of course.

“We were all concerned,” Harry said, leaning forward to stare at Niall with unabashed curiosity. The garment they had chosen for the night was almost entirely sheer, modesty saved by the way the cloth was layer around their waist, an elegant contrast to Liam’s plain breeches and tunic. “You have been gone for many hours, we thought perhaps you were lost.”

“I was simply worried about Niall,” Louis said.

“That’s sweet of y’, Cirrus,” Niall said, knocking their shoulders together when they were closer. Zayn moved with it, still holding onto Niall’s hand.

He felt too warm now. Heat from the fire prickling the back of his neck along with embarrassment. It felt as if every eye was drawn to where they were touching, as if everyone around them could see what had transpired between them. As if everyone could see Zayn’s heart, the way it was heavy and hopeful inside his chest.

He slid his hand up and out of Niall’s grip, giving Niall’s wrist a gentle squeeze to let him know Zayn was thankful for today.

“Louis has kindly agreed to a truce,” Harry began, gaze wandering up from Zayn and Niall’s hands to Zayn’s face, a question in their eyes that Zayn would not answer in the company of others.

“I wasn’t the one bein’ aggressive last night,” Louis interrupted darkly. This time, the glare was aimed at Harry and not Zayn, which was a nice change of pace. Despite the fact that he was lying, of course; he tried to _punch_ Zayn. “Drawin’ Arrows and tryin’ to kill people.”

“If I was trying to kill you, you would be dead.”

Harry’s voice was steely enough that Zayn interrupted, “Enough of that. Fighting is counterproductive to a truce.”

“You are counterproductive to a truce,” Harry muttered nonsensically.

“You know what is _not_ counterproductive to a truce,” Louis said, after a moment, gesturing with his chin.

Harry rolled their eyes in a way that suggested more familiarity than annoyance, as if Harry was used to Louis’ demands despite only knowing each other for a day. Part of their charm, Zayn supposed -- both Louis, and Harry’s -- able to make any interaction feel like a well-worn friendship if they so desired. If Louis decided to regard Harry in such a way, perhaps he was serious about this truce.

Whilst Zayn mused, Harry produced a flask from their belt and tossed it to Zayn. The broken seal around the top was deep green. The symbol on the end of the cork was easily recognizable.

“Spirits,” Zayn said flatly. Fae drink: wine or mead infused with enough magic to alter a non-human creature’s perception of reality. When Zayn uncorked the flask, the liquid smelt sharp and cherry.

Louis reached behind him and handed a flask sealed with yellow to Niall -- one not laced with magic, Zayn was sure -- before tugging yet another flask off his belt. He shrugged, lifting his flask in a toast before taking a long drink. There was a messy trail of bright red out the side of his mouth and down his jaw. Louis righted himself, wiping his chin with a wrist as he grinned.

“Anything to lighten the mood.”

 

 

It was not long before the fae drink made everything soft and hazy, amplifying Zayn’s emotions along with his awareness. Not only of Niall, but of everything and everyone else. It had been a long time since he had partaken in any substance that might inebriate him.

It was as if he could _feel_ the pulse of the city underneath his own rib cage. The beat of the heaving heart in the center of the earth. The easy quaking of its lungs as the crowd inhaled, exhaled, _screamed_. The bones of universe rattling to the bass drums.

It was making him want to dance, swaying with the music no matter what the musicians played. It distracted him enough that he did not dwell on the fact that Niall’s attention was elsewhere.

A whole day spent with the human, yet every moment he did not have Niall’s eyes on him had felt like a loss. He reminded himself not to be obvious -- not to be needy, or overwhelming, or push his own desires onto Niall. Not to touch him too much, or look at him too much, or vie for his attention at the expense of making time for the others.

Harry must have sensed the way his mood started to flatten. They appeared in front of him with their wild curls and their wild smile to tug Zayn to his feet, face softening in surprise when he did not resist.

“Desperate for a distraction,” Zayn said honestly, telling himself not to look back as Harry led him into the throng of dancers around the fire, feet light as they began to move with the crowd.

Their dimples were deep, laughing loudly as if they have gotten away with something as Zayn danced along with them. “Are you drunk?” Harry asked, twirling Zayn under their arm.

“No,” Zayn admitted. “Never.”

“Boring,” Harry teased, but Zayn knew they understand.

He disliked being vulnerable out in the open. He was warm, loose-limbed, and full of something syrupy that might be happiness, but his state of mind was not compromised.

“You spent today with the human,” they said, slowing as the music did, draping their arms over Zayn’s shoulders. Zayn felt them unknot his braid.

“You spent today with Liam,” Zayn said, allowing them to do what they pleased.

The next time they danced past the others, he allowed himself to look. There was Niall and Liam at the edge of the circle, talking and sharing the yellow-topped flask between them; Louis further back with a Kite -- perhaps the one from yesterday, the one that recognized Zayn; Griff in a white tunic that opened to show xir chest and back; and, of course, the crowd composed of so many creatures with so much magic that the air hummed.

When his attentions returned to Harry, he saw their eyes dim a bit before they laughed dismissively.

“As we do,” they said, still working their fingers through the waves of his hair. “I had to talk him out of discussing politics as he ate his morning meal. He did not know what else to talk about with me.”

“It must be intimidating to find a topic,” Zayn said soothingly, hoping Harry did not hear any pity in his voice. “You are learned in many areas. His experience is limited.”

“Must be,” Harry agreed, but their heart was not in it. Zayn felt a pang of regret for bringing it up in the first place. It was never a good topic he only wanted to keep the focus off himself and Niall. He did not know how to share what happened between them, or if he wished to share at all.

Before Zayn could find a way to divert the conversation, Harry was being pulled away -- Louis at their side without warning. They did not protest, allowing themself to be taken away around the fire as Louis smirked at Zayn over Harry’s shoulder.

Zayn found himself more amused than offended, but he made a rude gesture at Louis before turning and colliding with Griff.

“I saw you earlier,” Zayn said, spinning xir so they were swept up in the flow of the dance.

Griff smiled at him, sharp canines covered in gold plating. Xe was even more adorned than yesterday -- golden hoop in a nostril, neck dripping with precious stones, magic tracing the impressions of xir feathers so xe had a subtle gold shine.

“I heard you were missing all day,” Griff said. The lines on xir back were warm to the touch as Zayn slid his hand down to xir waist. “Louis heard from Harry that you have not been alone with the human much, I am curious.”

“All these wagging tongues,” Zayn replied, steering Griff gracefully through the crowd. He would blame the way his cheeks flushed on the bonfire. Despite the urge, he did not look around for Niall again -- that would be obvious. It seemed that to most, he was already far _too_ obvious.

“What do you think?” Griff asked, watching Zayn with warm eyes.“Will he make a good mage?”

“You are not keen on dropping this, are you?” Zayn asked. When Griff shook xir head, he hummed, once more thinking about how much he wanted to disclose about what transpired earlier. He decided to lie, “I do not know what kind of mage he will make. As they said, we have not been alone much.”

In actuality, Niall would make a great mage. Zayn could feel it when they were in the alley. The ways in which Niall’s magic softened for him, and the bright undercurrent of the connection when it happened. Their magic is, predictably, made for each other -- as they were made for each other.

“But you were today,” Griff pressed on.

“I am trying to get to know him as well.” Zayn sighed and raised up on his toes so Griff could duck under his arm in a clumsy twirl. Sadly, he thought of Harry. “I do not wish to only speak of magical affairs. We should enjoy each other’s company.”

“Did you learn anything about him, then?” Griff asked.

“You are relentless,” Zayn told xir before admitting, “He is not forthcoming. I am sure it will be a process.”

“But worth it, I am sure,” Griff said. It was almost a question, but not quite.

“I am hopeful.”

Griff allowed Zayn to change the subject after that, which Zayn rewarded with another dance. That buoyant feeling that had been in his chest since he entered Dwes was back once again, amplified by the fae drink, and Zayn allowed himself to feel it -- allowed himself to laugh and smile more than he would otherwise.

It was frighteningly easy, he found.

Louis and Zayn did not dance together when the song changed. Instead, they swapped partners, Harry once again in Zayn’s arms as Griff took the lead with Louis. It was a blessing of sorts that they managed to occupy the same space without animosity. That, Zayn credited mostly to the drink -- and to Louis’ distaste for drawing attention to himself in truly public places -- but it was progress.

After the dance was over, Zayn felt Harry leave his side unexpectedly. His confusion only lasted until he saw Niall approaching. The others suddenly had much to do across the fire, leaving he and Niall alone.

Niall stood close enough that Zayn could feel his warmth and smell the alcohol on his skin.

“You are here,” Zayn said, smiling at him.

“I like when y’ do that,” Niall said abruptly, watching Zayn’s face. There was a sleepy, hooded look to his eyes that Zayn was endeared by, made worse by the pink flush to his cheeks and the top of his lightly furred chest that Zayn could see above the loose collar of his tunic.

“What?” Zayn asked, dragging his gaze away from the distraction of Niall’s skin.

“Smile.” Niall ducked his head and looked away, shy.

“I have been told I do not do it enough.,” Zayn admitted. “At least not with sincerity.” Usually his smiles were sarcastic, or challenging -- a baring of teeth more than anything -- but he had been smiling from joy so much this trip.

Niall hummed, leading them to an outcropping of rock on the outer edge of the light from the bonfire. Zayn was disappointed they did not dance, but he followed.

“D’you know Griff well?” he asked, as they settled.

“Very,” Zayn said, sitting as close to Niall as possible without being on top of him. Zayn was getting used to the way Niall skipped over subjects like a pebble across water when he did not know how to respond -- or did not wish to. “We were close for a while, but xe mainly resides the South, and I reside in Awen. I am sent all over the realm, so we do not see each other much.”

“Xe seems fond of y’,” Niall commented politely.

“And not many people are,” Zayn agreed. He did not know whether or not to disclose the nuance of his relationship with Griff yet, feeling as if Niall needed to know him better in order to understand the ways in which Zayn trusted Griff. “You know xir from spending time at the tavern?”

Niall took a drink from his flask before shrugging. “I know the vendors well. The Dancing Demon aids The Chimera’s Tongue with goods and such when the inn’s in poor season. We owe Louis much.”

"And you know Louis well,” Zayn said, leaning into the topic as much as he dared. “He is protective of you.”

“As you know,” Niall said, sounding amused. “I’ve been workin’ at the inn since I was a wee lad, runnin’ back and forth between the two places is most of me job.”

“And your parents?” Zayn asked. He knew he was prying, curiosity getting the better of him, potential embarrassment eased by alcohol. He knew nothing of Niall’s origin, could not even guess at his story, and he desperately wished to know.

He knew everything about Ishraq. Knew their life from beginning to end, lived nearly all of it by their side. It was not common practice, he knew. Most did not summon demons immediately out of boyhood and keep the same one with them for a century. Most did not share their lives with demons -- or their beds -- but that uniqueness was what made them so good together.

That uniqueness was why Niall was sitting next to him with three scars branded on his wrist. The Universe brought Zayn to the same soul twice, and it was with Purpose. There was nothing anyone could say to make him believe he and Niall were meant to be ordinary.

The look on Niall’s face suggested it was not a good question to ask, but instead of ignoring it, Niall shrugged, meeting Zayn’s eyes steadily.

“Dead.”

“Oh.” Zayn frowned. Death was so subjective, it made it difficult to know what to say in response to such declarations. “Perhaps reincarnation was passed along similar to the way good looks are, and your parents are already settling into themselves again.”

That made Niall smile, exasperated but amused. “I can only hope,” he said drily. He took another long drink, watching the fire. “Do demons have family?”

The question startled Zayn, made him wish he had the other flask to chase away the unexpected sourness it left in its wake.

“We have no lineage as humans do,” Zayn said, after a moment. “I believe the Universe created us on a whim -- all at once, in a mighty outpour of energy that shaped the Spirit Realm. The concept of family belongs to this realm.”

“I’ll ask you more ‘bout this later,” Niall informed him before gesturing loosely across the fire, once again changing subject. “What’s with Harry?”

“You must be more clear,” Zayn replied, laughing. “There is a list.”

Niall laughed as well, “The way they look after Liam.” He was looking to where Harry was sat on the ground next to Louis. They were not listening to whatever Louis was saying; instead their gaze was fixed on where Liam had somehow found another human and talked to them with great animation.

Zayn turned it over in his mind, attempting to find the words. “It is difficult not to become attached when you cannot hide yourself,” Zayn admitted. It was not so difficult to speak about, but it was the conversation hidden inside this one he worried about -- the one about his own attachment.

“How do you mean?” Niall asked, fidgeting with the laces of his cuff.

Zayn thought of their connection earlier, the ghost of something deeper that he felt within Niall. A secret kept that would not remain so for long. “The connection is a pathway,” Zayn said, and gestured between them. “Emotion is the most powerful way to keep the pathway open and accepting, the easiest as well.”

 _Like earlier_ , he thought, but did not say. The way the tension had built between them, and the way it slipped when Niall was put on edge by the appearance of the berserkers.

“Oh,” Niall said, looking up at Harry once more. They were talking now, eyes on Louis, but their body was tilted ever so slightly in Liam’s direction. It was probably not a conscious decision on their part; the awareness of one’s mage was always present. “They are… like us?”

“There is no one like us,” Zayn said, amused. “But they are demon and mage, yes.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Niall said. Then he laughed, loud and abrupt. It was a lovely, warm sound. “Louis is going t’ have a fit when he finds out Liam’s a knight.”

“Sorely so,” Zayn agreed. “Does not like them much, does he?”

Niall shook his head, “Not at all.”

“And you?” Zayn prompted. Since they had spent this whole conversation asking uncomfortable questions, why not ask more.

“I am not in agreement with everything the Council does,” Niall said, without pause, words precise and practiced. “But I live in Awen, and its economy suits me. I respect knights, they keep us safe. My complaints are limited.”

“How many times have you rehearsed that?” Zayn asked, not unkindly, but Zayn had been around for many years, and he was not an idiot. “Or rather, how many versions of that do you have under your tongue?”

Niall’s mouth twisted, and he frowned.

“I don’t know what y’ mean,” he said finally, looking away.

Zayn snorted, but lets it go. Politics were not the boundaries he wished to push, if he was pushing any.

They lapsed into silence, but it was not entirely uncomfortable. The fire at their front was warm, and Niall was leaning against Zayn’s side, and Zayn felt settled in a way he had not since Ishraq died.

Though that was the point, Zayn supposed. The Universe was restoring balance.

“What do you get out this?” Niall asked eventually. His head was resting on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn almost did not want to answer, fearing it would bring attention to their position and Niall would move from it, but Niall took his dilemma for reluctance and pressed on. “There must be something in it for you.”

 _You are what is in it for me_ , Zayn thought. Aloud, he said, “It is in our nature. In this realm we are reliant on the bond between our magic and our mages.”

“Louis doesn’t have a mage,” Niall pointed out.

“And Louis is a lonely asshole,” Zayn said. He could not bring himself to feel bad about it when Niall barked out a laugh, whole body shaking with it as he tried to calm himself, curling up into Zayn’s space even further. Zayn felt so, so warm.

“I think that’s his personality,” Niall giggled.

“Indeed.”

They fell into silence, but it was obvious Niall was still waiting for his answer. Zayn did not know how to say what he felt, nor could he say why he felt it. The desire was a part of him, rooted so deeply it could not be divorced from him. The _only_ option was to see this through; breaking the bond was inconceivable. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

Zayn did not know what words he could possibly use to convey any of this, so he picked Niall’s hand up and undid the laces of his cuff once again until there was enough room for Zayn to touch. Niall’s pulse was loud in his head as he slipped his fingers under the edge and caressed the bottom scar, feeling a shiver work its way up his spine.

Zayn poured everything he felt into the touch, allowing the vulnerable feelings to bloom out from him to Niall; a flower opening to the sun. There was a sharp inhale from Niall, the swooping feeling of falling in Zayn’s stomach that was not his own, and the same feeling pushed back onto him two fold, as if in agreement.

“Okay,” Niall said as Zayn pulled away, allowing Zayn to tie his cuff again. He swallowed hard before he sat up and looked at Zayn with an expression so open it made Zayn ache. He looked so young when he was not focused on hiding himself.

It felt as if Zayn was seeing him, _really_ seeing him for the first time, and it terrified Zayn for reasons he could not place.

“Okay,” Zayn agreed. There was more, Zayn knew, but he was at a loss for words as Niall leaned against him once more. After a moment, his head dropped back onto Zayn’s shoulder, and Zayn’s heart beat hard in his chest.

 _Okay_.

 

 

After the festivities -- after the fae drink had ran its course through their systems, and Niall went back to The Dancing Demon with Louis, and Liam disappeared to sleep off the excitement of the night -- Harry phased through the door to Zayn’s room and found him drawing.

Eyes, mouth, the curve of an ear, gentle sloping neck and the beauty marks that adorned it. A left cheek with a sweet dimple, capable and callused hands. Bits and pieces that Zayn kept going over and over in his mind relentlessly.

Harry watched him for a moment. Zayn knew there was a smart comment on the tip of their tongue, so Zayn waited them out and kept lining sleepy eyes with charcoal until they spoke.

“He is not Ishraq,” Harry said, reaching for a discarded square of parchment. It was Niall’s profile -- his straight nose and soft jaw, the way his hair curled behind his ears. Harry traced fingertips over the lines lightly, smearing them in way that Zayn would usually chastise them for, but could not bring himself to.

It was obvious his mind was fixated on the human. He could not deny or defend it.

“I am aware,” Zayn told them, keeping his voice level.

He felt _too_ aware of it, obsessed with their differences. Indeed, they were both unbearably stubborn, undeniably clever, and unequivocally beautiful, but his mind would not marry this soft, guarded Northerner with his fierce, boisterous Ishraq; wondering how two beings could share the same soul when they were so dissimilar.

“I am worried,” Harry said, earnest in a way that made Zayn go still.

“Do you predict something?” Zayn asked, staring at his drawing. Blue magic stained the parchment as he traced a hand over the line work of the irises -- blue like the sea, and the sky, and wide-petalled flowers that grow in the garden when the weather becomes warmer.

“I hadn’t seen -- I didn’t realize your magic had settled,” Harry said, instead of answering. “It is Niall’s color.”

Zayn did not realize Harry failed to noticed the change. It was colorless before, lacking distinction, but -- “It has been like this since the Inn.”

Since he and Niall touched.

Since the universe collected between their palms and their hearts beat as one. Since Niall’s magic reached into his essence and wrapped itself around him, owning him. He was Niall’s. By bond, by magic, wholly inescapable.

“Ishraq’s magic was red,” Zayn added, even though Harry did not need to know. Zayn felt out of sorts, off balance in a way he did not know how to correct. The air around his hand shimmered as he held it out, tinted aquamarine. “Like river clay.”

“The future is clouded,” Harry said, sweeping their robes out to sit on the couch across from Zayn. The gauzy dress from the bonfire was gone, skin free of paint. They looked soft and smudged and vulnerable in sleep clothes, hair let down in waves. The look on their face made something in Zayn’s stomach turn.

“What is your prediction?” It was obvious there was one.

“Oh, I don’t see anything,” Harry said dismissively, eyes flashing brightly purple as they looked to Zayn, biting their bottom lip and frowning. It was not convincing. “I _feel_ \--”

“Feelings are predictions, Haz.” Zayn sighed.

“I _feel_ \--” Harry continued, as if Zayn had not spoken -- “I feel caution in the wind. You are on the verge of something thrilling. Niall is your catalyst, but there is something inside him, Zayn.”

“He is human,” Zayn said, keeping his voice under control. He thought of the alley, of the depth of Niall’s magic, and the inaccessible darkness therein. “Is his magic tainted?”

“It is deeper than that,” Harry said. There was a pause. They continued to stare at Zayn before their shoulders jumped, shrugging quick and dismissive. “But it is out of my reach. You must see what comes of it.”

“Oh, I _must_.” Zayn chuckled, but he kept Harry’s words in his mind so he would not forget the warning. A the strange feeling settled in his chest, but decided to ignore it. He never denied being foolish, and this was not something he wished to dwell on at the moment.

“You will see what comes of it,” Harry amended. “Even if I had a vision of certain disaster, doom, and potential death. You would see what came of it.” They gestured towards Zayn and his stack of parchment, his charcoal and ink. “You are already obsessed. You will see this through.”

“Your faith in me is absolutely astounding,” Zayn said drily.

“I know what it is like,” Harry said, looking away quickly. Zayn tried to ignore the way he could hear their heart pick up, but failed. “The bond between a mage and a demon is profound. I know he reciprocates your curiosity, I watched you two by the fire.”

“Harry…” Zayn did not know what to say.

“Don’t,” Harry said, voice going rough. The air shifted with the topic of conversation, Harry’s shoulders drawing up in defense. “I am not thinking of him, Zayn.”

“It sounds as if you are,” Zayn said quietly. They both knew it was true. Liam was always on Harry’s mind, even if they did not want him to be. “I understand.”

Harry laughed. It comes out sounding flat and unamused. “Your mage loved you,” they said, standing. They arranged the front of their robes, brushed invisible dust off the fine fabric, twisted fingers into them softly. “This mage will as well. You have no idea what it is like.”

Zayn stood, reaching for them. He wished he could say something that would bring comfort. He wished he could say anything, but Liam was strictly trained and strongly tied to the idea that demon were not equal beings -- that they did not have desires, that their opinions were not significant, that their emotions were somehow outside the realm of humanity instead of akin to it.

It was a wonder that any mage in the palace, or otherwise, could hold this belief when surrounded by demons with personalities such as Harry had. Humans were so narrow-minded.

Harry made a face and touched Zayn’s palm with their fingers before dropping their hand and laughing stiltedly. “I will leave you to your drawings,” they said, clearing their throat. “Please do not pity me. It is my own fault for entertaining these emotions. I am a terrible demon for being so optimistic.”

“It is your best quality,” Zayn assured them, even though they both knew it was not. Holding onto the hope that their affection might be returned weighed heavy on the heart, and unrequited love was a sickness.

“Do not die for him,” Zayn had told Harry once. So long ago, and six months after Liam had first summoned Harry. The two of them were on the roof, watching Liam and a handful of other knights spar in the practice yard. Liam was newly out of boyhood, determined to prove himself.

With the way Harry was entranced by Liam, their feelings were plain to see. They were captivated, and Zayn had known of too many good demons who lost themselves to undeserving masters. Caution was necessary.

Harry looked at him flatly. One of the only times Zayn had seen their face void of emotion. “There is no shame in dying honorably,” Harry said, after a long moment.

“It is not honorable to die for humans,” Zayn warned them. “They do not care for you. You are disposable energy. They will send you back into the Universe as dust without a second thought as long as they do not fall first.”

“You would have died for Ishraq,” Harry said, sharp and defensive. It was so petulant. So predictably Harry.

But Harry did not know of Zayn and Ishraq. Assuming that they did was a mistake.

“Ishraq died for _me_ ,” Zayn snapped. It was not his practice to speak with so much anger, but it welled up inside of him, made him hot and dizzy. “I would have died for them, but they died for me, and that is the _only_ kind of human you should give your entire essence for. One that would do for you as you do for them.”

Harry was silent, and Zayn could not keep himself from going on, quieter this time.

“I do not know Liam’s mind,” Zayn said, trying to ease the blow. He knew what it was like to be so attached to your mage, to be so _obsessed_ from the very beginning, and he was not one to pass judgement on that. “But most do not value demons. It is a lesson you will learn eventually, I am trying to save you heartache.”

Years later, and Harry’s heart still ached. Zayn liked to believe that Harry would not give their life for Liam’s, and they would beg to be dismissed -- to be returned to the demon realm unharmed, but he did not know if it was entirely true. Harry was… Harry.

“The feeling exists,” Harry said, as they left. They passed the desk and touched the drawing of Niall’s profile once again. “I am worried, yes, but I am thrilled to see what lies ahead with this human. I may be happy for you, if this goes alright.”

“Happy for me?” Zayn asked, looking down at his own scrap of parchment. His pen had been idly tracing Niall’s face the whole time they had been talking. There was not a single line out of place.

“You have been lonely far too long,” Harry said, sounding sad.

Zayn looked up, blinking at them.

“You did not realize.” Harry shook their head. They smiled obnoxiously. “What a luxury it must be to be so unaware.”

“You are young,” Zayn teased. “When you are as old as I am, you have more past than present to live in.”

If he was lonely, it was not something he had noticed. His desire for some sort of happening did not immediately equate to loneliness. His eagerness to see what happened with Niall was not the result of loneliness.

“This is why I am worried,” Harry said suddenly, hand darting out. Their fingers locked around the bond, making a white-hot feeling shoot up Zayn’s arm. The bond did not react well to foreign magic. “You live in the past. The past lives within you.”

“Harry,” Zayn snapped, wrenching his arm away, hoping Niall did not feel the touch. The shock would be enough to wake the human, if he were asleep. “You said you were _happy_ for me.”

“Concern is my primary emotion, Zayn,” Harry informed him lightly, before they pat the top of his hand. “Please heed my warnings.”

“Consider them heeded,” Zayn told them, rolling his eyes. It was not that he did not believe Harry but, “Your predictions are mutable. With time they may change.”

“That is true,” Harry agreed brightly. There was that optimism again -- Zayn might need to be worried. “I do like Niall. I am eager to get to know him.”

That prickly, possessive feeling settled under Zayn’s skin again. The one that he could not seem to escape where Niall was concerned. It was irrational, but he wished to remind Harry that Niall was _his_ \-- as if Harry did not already know that.

Zayn took a short breath and nodded in agreement; that was all he could think to do.

When the door had fallen shut behind Harry, there was a nudge to the bond, a fleeting feeling of curiosity. Zayn smiled down at his wrist absently. The touch did wake Niall up, then. He stroked the inside of his wrist, sending a reassuring calm.

The bond settled, and Zayn looked at his pile of drawings, his fixation laid out so plainly in front of him. He would not tell Harry, but he thought they might have been right. Perhaps he had been lonely, and perhaps he had been lonely so long, he did not realize it. Perhaps he needed to realize it this way, with someone.

Perhaps he needed to find Niall to realize it.

**Author's Note:**

> this whole fic and the universe it resides in is one of the most important things to me, and I hope you all love it as much as I do. there is so much more to come. 
> 
> [reblog on tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/176788800467/art-by-wepush-for-round-one-of-the1dcollab), please show some love to Di for the gorgeous visuals!


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